A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn
by NinthFeather
Summary: When Mustang's unit is transfered to the 4077th as diplomats, it seems like a good thing. But something darker is going on, and Amestris's problems are about to spill over into Korea. Canon pairings, longer summary inside.
1. Prologue

A/N: First off, normally, I italicize these things, but this chapter is going to be mostly Author's Note, and italics make my head hurt when they go on that long.

Secondly, the title is derived from a quote from M*A*S*H by Pierce about a movie that had been played repeatedly, which he was getting tired of. I thought it matched the semi-serious, semi-not tone I'm going for in this fic.

Here's that extended summary I promised you all:

"After Mustang's battle with Lust, he and his subordinates, including Ed, are sent across the gate as a diplomatic envoy to the 4077th M*A*S*H. Naturally, chaos ensues. Ed's ticked because Al couldn't come, Hawkeye Pierce hits on Lt. Hawkeye, Margaret hits on Mustang, Frank ticks everyone off, and Pierce and Mustang are compared. Trapper and Pierce get off to a bad start with the Amestrians, but eventually come to like them, and then become curious about their odd new tent-mates. Meanwhile, Ed and Mustang begin to suspect that the military had reasons for sending them to the 4077th. When their worst suspicions are confirmed, the Amestrians find themselves in a fight to protect the doctors and nurses of the 4077th from becoming pawns in the homunculi's plans. Any pairings will be canon, but this isn't really a pairing fic. There will be some Parental!RoyEd. Rated for violence, some gore, and bleeped-out cursing."

For those of you who didn't know, Fullmetal Alchemist (aka FMA) is a Japanese manga (comic) by Hiromu Arakawa (it doesn't belong to me, there's your disclaimer) that's also been turned into two separate anime (animated TV series). This particular story is based on the original manga storyline, which was the basis for the second anime, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood. This story takes place after chapter 44 of the manga, which is the second to last chapter of volume 11, or during episode 21 of FMA: Brotherhood. In terms of the plot, it's not long after Mustang's fight with Lust, specifically, right before the time that Ed tries to use a fight with Scar to draw out the homunculi. In this version, Ed was called to headquarters and informed of the transfer to the 4077th before he and Al could start discussing the plan. The fic will have spoilers up to that point, and possibly some for later chapters, especially regarding the ultimate goals of the homunculi.

M*A*S*H belongs to 20th Century Fox, and is technically a sitcom, but it's usually classified as a dark comedy, since it is set in a Moblie Army Surgical Hospital (M*A*S*H) near the front during the Korean War. Also, it has a tendency to get pretty serious for a comedy at times. This fic is based on the first two seasons, and could take place at any point within them.

If you aren't familiar with FMA, I'd strongly recommend reading it before starting the fic, in no small part because it is that good, and this fic has an awful lot of spoilers in it. If you insist, go on Wikipedia and look it up. Make sure you're reading the article on the manga, though, or you'll be confused.

M*A*S*H is a little easier to summarize. It is set at a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital during the Korean War, and follows the daily life of the people there. The main character is Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce, nicknamed Hawkeye, a surgeon who is a bit of a lech, but ultimately good-hearted, and who hates the military and the fact that the soldiers he treats are often extremely young. Captain "Trapper" John McIntyre is his sidekick, and shares a tent they have affectionately nicknamed "The Swamp" with him. Also living in the swamp is Major Frank Burns, a self-righteous, hypocritical annoyance who is married and yet having an affair with the head Nurse, Major Margaret Houlihan, a no-nonsense woman from a military family whose looks and tendencies towards affairs with higher-ranking officers have earned her the nickname "Hot Lips." Other major characters include Colonel Henry Blake, the unit's bumbling CO, Corporal Walter "Radar" O'Reilly, the company clerk who picks up after Blake and may or may not be psychic, and Corporal Maxwell Klinger, who wants out of the army badly enough to cross-dress constantly in hopes of getting a Section 8 (psychological) discharge. The show aired during the Vietnam War and was blatantly anti-war; it also addressed issues like racism and corruption within the military.

Hopefully, that's enough background for you all. Anyhow, I've already got a good bit of this fic written, so the updates should be somewhat regular, although I am a bit busy, so we'll see. And now, without further ado, the prologue! Yes, I know it's short, just relax, the next chapter's going to be at least five pages long in Word.

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Prologue

"_**How much of this can a man take? We must have seen this picture twelve times in the last month. It's a recurring nightmare with popcorn!" –Dr. Hawkeye Pierce, M*A*S*H**_

_Private Miles Price knelt on the ground before a large, circular design, drawn in chalk on the dirt of the Korean front. At the center of the circle were piles of various substances, along with a large pot of water, with the moon reflected on its surface._

_Price placed his hands on the edge of the circular design, looking upwards for conformation._

_"T-this is how, right?" he asked, his voice trembling. "Are you sure I'm not doing anything wrong?'_

_A figure cloaked in shadow smiled back at him, their teeth almost luminescent in the darkness, and smiled._

_"O-okay then," he said, closing his eyes and picturing what he wanted back._

_The circle erupted with light. It engulfed Price, blue and clean and bright…until purple and black seeped into its glow._

_That was when he started screaming._


	2. Out of the Frying Pan and Into the OR

_A/N: All right, here's the first real chapter. Just to clear things up: even though this isn't based on the first anime, I am using the first anime's model of the world—up to a point. In other words, the real world, or, in this case, the 4077__th__, is on the other side of the Gate from Amestris, and can only be reached by opening the Gate. However, in contrast to the first anime, alchemy can be used on both sides of the Gate, because the story won't work if it can't be. Also, as far as the difference between Amestrian and English: rather than having Amestrian equal German and thus having everyone learn a new language to speak with the American doctors at the M*A*S*H (which wouldn't be plausible, so I'd have to write partly in German, a language that I barely know), I am going to have Amestrian be a dialect of English, so it's pronounced differently (with a slight German accent, though I'm not going to write the accent, you'll have to imagine it) and the written language uses different spellings. So the doctors will be able to talk to the Amestrians, but will have difficulty reading anything in Amestrian. Also, in case you weren't aware, O.R. is an abbreviation for Operating Room. Okay, that was a ridiculously long author's note. Sorry. On with the story!_

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 1: Out of the Frying Pan and Into the O.R.

"_**Attention, all personnel, incoming wounded- Out of the frying pan and into the O.R." –PA system, M*A*S*H**_

Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce, more often known as Hawkeye, walked down the dirt path that cut the 4077th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital. He looked around at the dusty olive-green tents surrounding him and sighed.

He'd somehow ended up in the deepest circle of hell, with a bunch of doctors, nurses, and soldiers that seemed to think the place was called Korea. If it was any place other than perdition, though, why were there so many dying kids? And why did he end up operating on them for days on end?

Occupied with thoughts like these, the tall, dark-haired man nearly didn't notice another man with a similar appearance approaching him.

The man was a little shorter than Pierce, with black hair that was just a little messy and eyes as dark as pools of ink. He wore a royal blue outfit that looked suspiciously military, although Pierce had never seen another like it. A pair of white gloves covered his hands.

The man wasn't alone, either. Walking at his side was a woman who could give Major Margaret Houlihan a run for her money, and, considering the Head Nurse's camp nickname of "Hot Lips," that was an accomplishment. This woman had blonde hair clipped into a neat bun at the back of her head, and eyes that were a warm chocolate brown. Her uniform was the same as the man's. Others followed them, wearing the same uniform: A heavyset man with short hair, a dark-haired, nervous-looking fellow with glasses, a thin man with small eyes and ash-blond hair. Pierce thought he saw a flash of golden hair as well, but he couldn't see its owner.

The dark-haired man saluted Pierce. "I am Colonel Roy Mustang of Amestris," he said, in a deep voice. There was a slight accent to his speech, something almost German. "I am looking for the commanding officer of MASH 4077."

"What's a bunch of regular military like you doing at a MASH unit?" Pierce asked bluntly, ignoring the salute.

"The Fuhrer of our country has stationed us here as a diplomatic envoy," the man said, crossing his arms. "His orders are not to be questioned."

Pierce rolled his eyes. Great. Another Frank Burns. "I'm Captain Pierce, but you can call me Hawkeye."

The blonde woman spoke up. "I would prefer to call you Pierce, as my own name is Hawkeye, and it would be confusing to have two people on the same post going by that name."

Pierce smiled crookedly. "You know, it wouldn't be a problem anymore if you had a different last name…."

Hawkeye's gun was in her hand and pointed at Pierce before he could even blink. "And how do you propose to do that?"

"Yes, 'propose,' that's exactly the word…." Pierce continued, his grin widening. The gun was just a bluff, he was sure.

"One more word and you die," Hawkeye spat, pointing the gun at his head.

Apparently it wasn't a bluff. Pierce stepped back, his hands above his head. This one was like Hot Lips in more ways than one. Why were all the good ones so unapproachable?

"That's enough, Lieutenant Colonel," Mustang said.

Hawkeye scowled, but lowered the gun. Was it Pierce's imagination, or was Mustang chuckling?

"Hey! Hawkeye!" Pierce heard Radar yell.

Both he and Hawkeye immediately responded. "What?"

Radar looked from Pierce to the woman, his wide eyes magnified by his thick glasses.

"I mean, um, Captain Pierce?" Radar said, confused. The youngest member of the MASH unit's glasses were crooked, and his brown hair was sticking out at all angles from under his beanie cap. Pierce could only imagine the impression the Amestrians were getting of the 4077's company clerk.

"Colonel Blake says to bring these guys to his office right away," Radar said. He noticed the stares of the foreign soldiers and turned around. "Oh, hi! I'm Corporal Walter O'Reilly, but everyone calls me Radar. Colonel Blake's real sorry he wasn't here to greet you, but we weren't expecting you so soon, on account of all the choppers being sent down to the front. Guess you must've used one of your country's choppers, huh?"

Mustang blinked, as if in surprise, then nodded. "Thank you for coming to meet us. I would like to speak to your Colonel, so if you wouldn't mind showing us where his office is…."

"Oh, um, of course!" Radar said. He headed toward Colonel Blake's tent, with the Amestrians close behind.

Pierce followed, figuring that this had the potential to be interesting. Or at least more interesting than sitting around and waiting for more casualties.

"So, what are you guys' names?" Radar asked as they walked.

"I'm Colonel Roy Mustang," Mustang said.

"Lieutenant Colonel Riza Hawkeye," Hawkeye said.

"Uh, I'm Master Sergeant Kain Fuery," the dark-haired one with glasses stammered. He gestured to the ash-blond man. "That's Warrant Officer Vato Falman, and the big guy is Second Lieutenant Heymans Breda." He paused for a second. "Oh, and that's Major Elric."

From within the group of soldiers, Hawkeye heard a young-sounding voice grumble, "Fuery, do you have to be so formal? Just call me Ed."

"But, I mean, we're being introduced to foreign military personnel, so I thought…" Fuery said.

"Fuery's right," Mustang interrupted. "A little formality won't kill you."

"But look!" Ed continued. "Captain Pierce isn't even wearing a uniform! So why do I have to wear this freaking thing?"

Mustang sighed. "Because you are here as a representative of the Amestrian military and the Fuhrer wants us to make a good impression."

Ed made a suggestion as to what the Fuhrer could do with his good impression. Pierce laughed.

Mustang was not so amused. "Full—I mean, Elric, you will stop acting disrespectful or I will hold on to your luggage for you for the next couple of days."

"But my books are in there!" Ed protested.

Pierce watched as the group of soldiers parted and a boy in the soldiers' blue uniform grabbed the collar of Mustang's uniform. He was unusually short, with golden hair that fell over his face in bangs and was braided in the back.

"I don't want to be here, but if I have to be, I am going to be doing some research," the boy growled, golden eyes ablaze. "I'll play your stupid game of being polite, but if you so much as touch those books, I swear to you I'll—"

"That's quite enough, Elric," Mustang said with a scowl, wrenching the boy's fingers off of his collar. "But I am serious. Behave."

The boy glared at him and muttered a few inappropriate nicknames. This time, Pierce didn't laugh. Elric was a kid. He was tiny! Pierce guessed he couldn't be much older than thirteen, although it was hard to tell. So Amestris was the kind of country that let kids into their army. Pierce scowled, disgusted.

"Should I tell Colonel Blake you'd like to talk to him?" Radar asked.

Pierce had to hand it to Radar. If the kid wasn't actually psychic, he was one heck of a pretender.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Colonel Roy Mustang looked around Colonel Blake's office with undisguised disgust. It was a mess. There were piles of paper everywhere, and a thin layer of dust shrouded everything. The only thing that looked vaguely organized was the liquor cabinet. Mustang would be the first to admit that his own office wasn't as orderly as it should be, but this was ridiculous!

Blake himself was even more of a disappointment, if that were even possible. He was middle-aged, with wide eyes that were almost cartoonish. His hair was probably brown, but it was impossible to tell when he was wearing that ridiculous fishing hat. With all of those lures stuck into it, the man looked like a street performer. The fact that he was wearing a bathrobe rather than a uniform didn't help matters.

"Welcome to MASH 4077," he said, leaning back in a chair that looked like it was probably older than himself and his guests combined.

"Thank you," Mustang said. "Corporal O'Reilly informed me that you weren't expecting us. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

"Aw, it's no problem," Blake said.

Mustang really wished that he could agree with that statement. However, for him, being in Korea was a gigantic problem. After the incident involving Barry the Chopper and the death of the homunculus Lust, the Fuhrer had sent Mustang and his unit here, presumably to keep them from interfering with the plans of the homunculi. Well, not the whole unit, not really. Havoc was still in the hospital, now completely unprotected. At first, Al, who was forbidden from coming along, has planned to keep watch, but both Ed and Mustang had been uncomfortable with the idea of having the only people in Amestris who knew about the homunculi to any extent in the same place, so Al had been sent to his teacher's home in Dublith.

Mustang had worried about the ability of a self-proclaimed "housewife" to face down the homunculi, but Ed had full confidence, and that alone was enough to convince Mustang. If the Skeptic Alchemist believed it, it was probably true.

"So, um, why are you guys here?" Blake asked. "I mean, it's not like I mind, but this is a MASH and you guys are regular army. Shouldn't you be at a command center or something?"

Honestly, that was what worried Mustang, too. Their being at a hospital made no sense. Which indicated that the homunculi had some sort of reason to want them at MASH 4077. At times like these, he wished he could go back to the days when all of his problems could be solved by setting them on fire.

Which reminded him that he wasn't allowed to use alchemy at the MASH unit, either. He already hated this place.

Blake was looking at him expectantly, probably waiting for an answer to his question.

"We were sent here by the Fuhrer of our country," Mustang said. "He has some sort of purpose for it, I'm sure. I just haven't been entrusted with knowledge of what it is."

"So they didn't tell you anything, huh?" Blake asked. "A tight-lipped bunch, your military. I took a look at the files you sent us. Half of the information's blacked out!"

"I apologize," Mustang said, turning on the charm that had gotten him promoted this far. "But myself and Elric have been involved in a number of top-secret matters. You can understand why our government might black out parts of our records."

"I mean, Golly Gee, they even gave us a list of things we aren't allowed to ask you about! And why on Earth would we be asking a bunch of soldiers about prosthetics, anyway?" (A/N: I hate interrupting the story like this, but I want to point out to the FMA fans that this is not me using weird sayings. Blake actually talks like this in M*A*S*H. Think of it like Hughes and his habit of showing everyone pictures of Elysia. It's annoying, but he really can't help it.)

Mustang sighed inwardly. Central Command was probably worried about the Americans learning about the weaponry applications of automail. Apparently, they didn't have it here. He'd even been instructed to stop referring to the shrimp as Fullmetal, lest it arouse suspicion.

"That's because—" Ed started. Mustang cursed inwardly. What part of "orders" didn't the brat understand?

"—a childhood friend of mine works with prosthetics, and I lived with her family for a while when we were kids," Ed finished, flashing Mustang a "bet ya thought I was going to tell them, didn't you," smirk.

Mustang scowled at him.

"Oh, well, that explains that," Blake said. "So, you guys are free to do whatever you want around here, as long as you don't start spying for Korea." He chuckled, then stopped when he realized no one else was laughing.

"Well, anyhoo," Blake continued, "you can go to your new quarters now, if you want. Ms. Lieutenant Colonel, you'll be rooming with the nurses, since it's the only tent with females in it in the camp. I gotta say, I'm surprised your country's okay with having women in the army…"

Hawkeye glared at him, and he moved on quickly.

"…anyway, you guys have a choice. There's room for three of you in the V.I.P. tent, and the other two will be rooming with some of our doctors."

Mustang made a decision. As much as he hated the idea, he needed to keep an eye on Fullmetal. Neither of them were really sure what being human sacrifices actually meant, but it involved the homunculi wanting them. And Mustang wasn't about to allow the homunculi to have anything that they wanted.

"Full-Elric and I will room with the doctors," Mustang stated. "The others can stay in the V.I.P. tent."

"Righty-o, then," Blake said happily. "You already met Pierce. You'll be staying with him and two other doctors, Captain McIntyre and Major Burns. I'll have Radar show you where the tents are. You must be tired after all that traveling."

"You have no idea," Fullmetal said softly.

Roy grimaced. That was another part of all of this that sat wrong with him. This place was on the other side of the Gate. He had no idea how Central Command had actually gotten them through the Gate, but it had probably involved more human sacrifices. The thought made him sick.

He remembered nothing of the trip through the Gate, probably because he wasn't the alchemist who had opened it. He expected the same held for the others, except Elric. Perhaps it was because he'd opened it before, or because his brother's body and his own arm and leg were inside it, but he'd definitely seen something. The haunted look in the brat's eyes when the group had first arrived in Korea confirmed that much.

"Radar—" Blake began.

"Take Colonel Mustang and his men to their tents," Radar said.

"Take Colonel Mustang and—that's exactly right," Blake trailed off, sounding slightly confused.

"Right away, sir," the bespectacled Corporal said. "Oh, and Pierce wants to talk to you."

"He wants to talk to me, or he wants to yell at me?" Blake asked.

"Um, yell, sir," Radar admitted.

"Send him in," Blake said tiredly.

Mustang offered him a sympathetic smile before following Radar out. He'd seen something frightening in Pierce's eyes earlier. He was glad he wasn't the one who had to deal with it.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

_A/N: And there's the first chapter! Please review and tell me what you thought. Also review or PM me if you have any questions or are at all confused. Yes, I realize that this didn't connect with the Prologue at all. That was foreshadowing, and it probably won't be addressed again for a while. Anyhow, please review! Thank you for reading!_


	3. A Never Ending Parade of Freaks

_A/N: Here's the second chapter! In case you were wondering, Pierce and Mustang are not going to get along right away. They're too much alike. And as for Ed, he's just going to be in a bad mood for a few chapters. So the characters are going to become friends eventually, but it's going to take a few chapters. Anyhow, this chapter introduces Trapper and Frank to the mix. Enjoy!_

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 2: A Never-Ending Parade of Freaks

"**Wonderful... It's just a never-ending parade of freaks lately, huh?" –Roy Mustang, FMA**

Colonel Henry Blake sighed to himself as Pierce stormed into the office.

"What is it, Pierce?" he asked. He really wondered what he'd done to end up as Pierce's CO. Pierce was a good guy and a great doctor, but he had a problem with accepting that things were the way they were, and that, sometimes, well enough just had to be left alone.

"What is it? Did you not see Elric?" Pierce demanded.

"Pierce, what do you have against people with growth hormone deficiencies?" Henry asked. "You've gotten mad over some strange things, but this is—"

"He's not growth hormone deficient," Pierce interrupted. "He's fifteen! Did you even read the files?"

"I mean, I scanned a little bit—Wait, fifteen? Really?"

"He joined the military when he was twelve years old, Henry! Twelve! How the h- could they—"

"Calm down, Pierce," Henry said flatly. "I don't like it either, but they're representatives from another country and we have to treat them respectfully."

"I'm not going to just stand around and let this happen," Pierce snapped.

"Yes you are," Henry stated. "Elric and Mustang are staying in your tent—"

"What?" Pierce demanded.

"—They're staying in your tent and you will treat them with the respect due to people of their rank, or I'll have your but in a court-martial before you can say—"

"Like h-, Henry," Pierce snapped.

"Pierce, I let you and McIntyre do pretty much whatever the h- you want around here," Henry said tiredly. "I put up with your pranks, I bail you out when you get in trouble with the brass, I keep Burns and Houlihan off of your backs. Just do this one thing in return."

"I'm not going to make nice with them, Henry," Pierce said. "But if it's that important, I won't start anything with them, either."

"It is that important," Henry said. "The last thing we want to do is tick them off. If they get angry enough to attack the U.S., we're all toast. Amestris has a much stronger military than we do. They've been fighting their neighboring countries for decades, not to mention dealing with all of the civil unrest they have. They've got some scary weapons, too. There was something in those files about some kind of flamethrower that could torch whole city blocks. I wouldn't like to meet up with that."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Roy Mustang sneezed.

_If Al were here, he would have said, "Bless you,"_ Edward Elric thought. Which only served to remind Ed that he wasn't there. He understood that Al was a gigantic suit of armor, and thus stuck out, but still! This was the first time they'd been apart in years. Really, it was the only time they'd been this far from one another since Al had been born, except for the few horrible moments after the failed human transmutation, when Al's soul had been in the Gate along with his body.

His body, which Ed had seen on the trip through the Gate that had brought them to Korea. He shuddered, remembering.

_The transmutation circle on the ground activated, and suddenly, Ed was standing in front of a massive stone door, decorated with a relief carving of a tree. Orbs rested on its branches, carved with names in languages Ed didn't know. The Gate._

_ In front of it sat a being, a white thing in the shape of a human, its edges outlined in black. The Truth._

_ "Nice to see you again, Alchemist," the Truth said, in its eerie, childlike voice, as a wide grin spread across its otherwise featureless face. _

_ Ed felt someone's gaze on his back. He turned to look at…well, it was like looking in a mirror. A boy with eyes only shades darker than his own golden ones gazed at him serenely. Golden hair fell past his pronounced collarbone. He sat, cross-legged in front of another gate, identical to the one behind Ed._

_ "Al!" Ed cried, reaching toward him._

_ "You're not my soul," Al's body stated. "I can't go with you."_

_ "AL!" Ed screamed, as millions of hands emerged from the Gate and dragged him backwards. _

_ "AL!" _

_ The Gate slammed shut, and suddenly, Edward was in the middle of a dirt road, with Mustang and the others._

_ "We're here," Mustang said._

Edward rubbed his eyes, and turned to face the colonel.

"Why are we rooming together?" he demanded. He didn't want to spend any more time with the jerk than absolutely necessary.

"Because I think the homunculi and Central Command sent us here for a reason," Mustang said flatly. "They're planning something, and I don't want the others involved."

Ed didn't have to ask why. He knew the colonel's reasons. Hughes and Havoc.

"Aren't you worried about me?" Ed asked, his tone teasing. He told himself that he didn't care how Mustang answered.

"You're already involved," Mustang said grimly. "You and I are "human sacrifices," right?

Ed nodded. "You have a plan?"

"Not much of one. For right now, we just have to keep an eye on things, and watch each other's backs."

"At least it's something to do," Ed complained. "What the heck am I supposed to do at an army hospital?"

A lopsided grin flashed across Mustang's face. "I'm sure you'll think of something," he said.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Trapper John McIntyre whistled as he walked toward his tent, only half-listening to his friend's complaints.

"He's a kid, for crying out loud, and Henry's fine with it!" Pierce ranted.

"They do things different in other countries," Trapper said calmly. "What's the big deal?"

"He's fifteen years old, Trap!" Pierce continued.

"We're gonna be sharing a tent with them," Trapper said. "And if you're like this all week, I swear I'll get you a Section 8 discharge just so I don't have to listen you complain!"

"And how are you going to do that?"

"Easy," Trapper said with a grin. "I'll just tell them you think war is wrong. That'll convince them you're crazier than Klinger."

Pierce laughed. "All right, fine," he said. "I'll shut up. But I don't have to like this."

"Never said you did," Trapper said amiably.

The two walked into the Swamp, where their two new roommates (_is it still roommates if it's a tent? _Trapper wondered) had already settled in.

The black-haired guy, Mustang, who really did look remarkably like Pierce, was writing something and muttering something to himself that sounded like, "She'll _kill_ me if I don't finish this."

The boy, Edward, meanwhile, was balanced on the edge of his bed, immersed in an extremely thick-looking book.

"Yo," Trapper said.

"Oh, hello," Mustang said. His voice was low, and slightly accented. "You must be Captain McIntyre." Edward didn't even look up.

"Just call me Trapper," Trapper said. He gestured to Ed. "Is he ignoring me or something?"

"No, Elric just has an amazing ability to concentrate," Mustang said with a laugh. "He probably doesn't even realize you're here. Don't worry, though, I know how to get his attention."

A smirk appeared on the man's face. "Hey, shrimp!"

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SHORT THAT A FLEA COULD STEP ON HIM?" the blond boy roared, looking up.

"I didn't say any of that, Elric," Mustang chuckled. "Now, how about you introduce yourself to the nice captains."

"Shove off, Mustang," Edward growled. He turned to Trapper and Pierce. "I'm Ed. That idiot," he continued, pointing to Mustang, "wants you to call me Major Elric, but he doesn't know anything anyway, so you shouldn't listen to him."

"I'll keep that in mind," Trapper said, amused. He liked this kid. "Doing some light reading?"

"I have something I'm working on," Ed said. "I'm not giving up just because Central Command decided to ship us to the middle of nowhere."

"What are you reading, anyway?" Mustang asked.

"One of the books Marc—I mean Mauro mentioned in his research," Ed said. "I bought almost all of them before we left."

"Is that really necessary?" Mustang asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey, the Truth isn't just gonna give—I mean, my project isn't gonna finish itself," Ed said.

"So are you a researcher or something?" Trapper asked.

"More or less, I guess," Ed said. "I pretty much only joined the military for the research access."

Trapper glanced at Pierce. The other doctor was fuming. This could get ugly.

"Your file said you were twelve when you entered the military," Pierce said, his voice dangerously flat. Trapper braced himself for the explosion.

"Yeah," Ed said. "So?"

"Fullme—Elric was a special case," Mustang said. "Usually, we don't allow anyone so young to enter the military."

Ed rolled his eyes. "Apparently, I'm supposed to be a genius or something. What a joke. If I was a genius, I wouldn't be in the military."

Trapper blinked. For a second, Ed had reminded him of Pierce in one of his black moods, the ones he only got into after losing a patient. The look of regret in the boy's eyes…No, he must have imagined it. There was no way a fifteen-year-old had that much to regret.

"I'd agree with that," Pierce said, interrupting Trapper's thoughts. The acid in his tone was hard to miss. "There aren't many geniuses in the army. Though I guess it takes a special type of genius to convince a twelve-year-old to join up, huh?"

Mustang's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes shifted. Without saying anything, he picked up a book that had been lying on the bed beside him and started reading.

Ed looked from his commanding officer to Pierce, confusion plain on his face. But both men's faces remained closed. Sighing, the boy picked up his book again.

Silence fell over the Swamp. Trapper was beginning to be annoyed. What happened to Pierce's promise not to start anything? If he had to put up with this until the Amestrians left, he'd desert.

Of course, because Trapper was, after all, the luckiest man on Earth, Frank Burns chose that moment to come strutting back into the tent.

"Hi, fellows," he said. Trapper had the sudden urge to punch him.

The clueless major suddenly noticed the tent's two new residents. "Who are these people?" he asked.

"Why the heck should we tell you?" Pierce asked.

"I'm a major and you're captains," Frank said haughtily.

"They're the envoy from Amestris that Henry's been talking about," Trapper said. "Why don't you go find someone else to annoy?"

"Well, aren't you even going to introduce me?" Frank asked.

Edward looked up from his book. "I'm Ed, and that's Mustang. Now, if you don't mind, I'm trying to read."

"Salute when you address a superior officer!" Frank admonished.

"I will when I find one," Ed said. "I'm a major, too. And Mustang's a colonel, so don't even think about it."

"Even if you are a major, you are clearly younger than me, and you should treat your elders with respect," Frank stated.

Ed told Frank exactly what he thought of that idea.

"Where did you learn language like that?" Frank demanded.

"Hm…might have been Teacher, or maybe Breda…I'm not sure," Ed said, a wicked smile on his face.

"That's what you get when you let a kid in the army," Pierce muttered. Trapper shot him a look.

"I will not have you saying things like that in this tent," Frank stated, ignoring Pierce completely.

"Good luck trying to shut Ed up," Mustang said, without bothering to look up.

"Children should respect their elders!" Frank insisted.

"I've been in the army for three years; what makes you think I'm a child?" Ed asked cooly.

"Well, you're a little short for an adult," Frank said smugly, chuckling a little.

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SMALL THEY'RE PRACTICALLY INVISIBLE?" Ed roared, lunging at Frank.

Mustang caught his left arm, holding him back. The short blond growled in frustration and aimed a punch at him, which Mustang easily dodged. Mustang smirked and Ed punched again, this time catching Mustang's chin.

"Geez, did it have to be _that_ arm?" Mustang complained, rubbing his chin.

"You were holding the other one," Ed said stubbornly. "Besides, if I broke your face, we are in a tent full of doctors. You could just get one of them to fix it."

Mustang just rolled his eyes. "I'm going to sleep, Ed. You should, too. You had a rough trip, right?"

The golden-haired boy blinked, then stared at Mustang. At first his expression was surprised, but then it softened to something almost like gratitude.

"Yeah," the boy said softly, getting into bed.

"Aren't you going to change out of your uniform first?" Frank asked.

Ed mumbled something that sounded vaguely profane before turning over on his side so that his back was facing Frank.

"I'm guessing that's a no," Trapper quipped, chuckling to himself. He couldn't room with anyone normal, could he?

_A/N: Thanks for reading! The review button is down there, just so you know. Next chapter: "Attention, all personnel- We interrupt your sweet dreams to bring you the following nightmare." –PA system, M*A*S*H. _


	4. The Following Nightmare

_A/N: Look, it's a new chapter! By the way, I would like to take this opportunity to tell you that this fic does in fact have a plot! I even have some of it written. I'm just taking a lot of time on the character relationships, which should make this fic more enjoyable in the long run, but it also means that the plot may take its sweet time in making any sort of appearance. Also, an additional disclaimer: Ed's nightmare in this chapter is in no way meant to be foreshadowing. I wrote it like a real nightmare—most people's actual nightmares are made of a person's memories mixed together with whatever is particularly on that person's mind at the time. Once again, it's not foreshadowing. Anyhow, now that I have that out of the way, please enjoy the chapter!_

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 3: The Following Nightmare

"**Attention, all personnel—we interrupt your sweet dreams to bring you the following nightmare." –PA system, M*A*S*H**

Mustang was woken from an extremely pleasant dream about a certain change in the Amestrian uniform for females by Ed talking in his sleep.

There was a time when Ed's mumbling would have gone completely unnoticed by the colonel. But Ishbal didn't exactly favor heavy sleepers, and Mustang had been forced to adapt.

He was about to snap at his subordinate when he heard what Ed was saying.

"Al, Al, I'm coming back for you…" the boy muttered, kicking his legs and causing his bunk to creak.

"Wha…" he heard Pierce moan.

Roy rubbed his temple. That solved the mystery of what the boy had seen in the Gate.

Reluctantly, he got out of bed and went over to the sleeping alchemist. Al had warned him about Ed's nightmares. Well, according to Al, they were more like night terrors.

"Hawk, what's going on?" Trapper muttered from his cot.

"The major's having a nightmare," Pierce deadpanned.

Ed's arms were flailing around now. "Al…Al, I'm so sorry…" the boy muttered. His face, normally so peaceful when he was sleeping, was twisted as though he was in pain.

Roy moved backwards to avoid the arc of Ed's arm. He wished Al had been allowed to come along. It was a lot easier to deal with a kid with metal limbs and extensive martial arts training when you had a seven foot tall suit of armor with the same training on your side, especially when the aforementioned kid was striking out blindly with enough force to break bones.

Also, it felt weird seeing Ed like this. Where was Edward Elric, the Hero of the People whose glares frightened even seasoned veterans? Seeing Ed so vulnerable…it just felt wrong. Like he shouldn't be seeing this.

"Ed, wake up," he hissed. "Ed, it's just a dream."

"…I know…" Ed mumbled.

"Then wake up!" Mustang snapped. But his subordinate's eyes remained closed.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ed dreamed.

_White hands, so many white hands, pulled him backwards, away from his brother's body. _

_ "Al!" he shouted. "Al, I'm coming back for you!" He stretched his automail arm toward the painfully thin boy._

_ "Don't," the blond said flatly._

_ "What?" Ed managed to choke out._

_ "Don't bother," Al's body continued. "You'll only mess it up again. You'll mess up, and I'll pay the price. Just like last time."_

_ "…Al…" Ed said. "…Al, I'm so sorry."_

_ "Sorry doesn't fix anything," Al said. "Sorry can't fix me. It can't bring Mom back, either. Sorry didn't fix Nina. Sorry didn't bring back Hughes."_

_ "…I know," Ed gasped, on the brink of tears._

_ "Sorry won't fix this, either," Al said._

_ The hands continued to pull Ed backwards as Al's left arm and right leg dissolved._

_ Al smiled at Ed. _

_ "See, now I'm just like you," he said._

Ed woke up screaming.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Pierce blinked. The kid was really _loud_.

"Al…where's Al…he's hurt, we have to get Granny Pinako…" The words practically poured out of the boy's mouth. He bolted upright, panicked, his eyes wide. His whole body was shaking as he took deep, gasping breaths.

"Shh," Mustang said. "Al's fine. He's at Ms. Curtis's house. That was just a dream." He hesitated, then started to rub the boy's back. "It was just a dream."

The boy drew one of his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around it. "It hurts," he said, his voice trembling.

"I know," Mustang said softly, continuing to rub the boy's back.

Pierce watched them in silence.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ed fell back to sleep about a half-hour later, and Roy was finally able to collapse back into bed.

He didn't know what he'd thought he was doing. Ed wasn't his kid; it wasn't his job to calm him down when he had nightmares.

And yet, seeing the same stubborn, brave kid that had faced down homunculi and serial killers trembling so violently that his bed was shaking—there was something wrong about that.

Roy was out of his depth. Sure, he tried to help Ed out as much as he could. But with Ed, all Roy had needed to do was tick him off. A comment about his height here, a smirk there, and Ed got so fired up that the thought of quitting never even passed through his mind. Getting Ed angry at him was his way of keeping the kid motivated.

Sitting up with him when he had a nightmare, though, that was another thing entirely. Mustang was not a demonstrative guy. He wasn't much for physical displays of affection. He couldn't remember the last time he'd hugged someone who wasn't a relative. Actually, he couldn't remember hugging too many relatives, either. So rubbing Ed's back was an incredibly awkward experience.

It had seemed like the right thing to do, even so. He remembered seeing Hughes do it with Elysia once. Maybe that was why it had been his first reaction. If there was ever a good example of a father…not that Roy was trying to be a father. _Who'd want to be that brat's dad?_ he thought, trying to make a joke out of it, but the mental image of Ed looking so terrified wouldn't leave him.

He also felt guilty. He was the one who'd allowed a fifteen-year-old to get involved in what even an idiot would be able to identify as an extremely dangerous case. It was his fault that the military had shipped them all to the middle of nowhere, separating the Elric brothers for the first time in who knows how long. It should have been Al, comforting him. Well, really, it should have been one of the boy's parents, but the chances of either of them showing up were not exactly great.

Maybe Pierce was right. Maybe he shouldn't have recruited Ed. The boy could handle it, that much he knew. It would take a lot more than anything the military could dish out to stop Ed. But that was the problem. Ed was so strong because he'd already been through so much. Why should he have to go through more? A kid Ed's age shouldn't need that much strength. Heck, someone Roy's age shouldn't need it, either.

Thoughts like those were still running through his mind when he fell asleep.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The light of dawn peeked through the gaps between the edges of the tent's cloth walls. Ed put his arm up in front of his eyes to block out the light—the automail one, it was better for this sort of thing.

He dragged himself out of bed, trying not to remember his dream, and not even allowing his mind to venture into the territory of Roy sitting up with him after it. Mustang and the others were as half-awake as he was, except for Frank, who was annoyingly perky.

"Ready for breakfast, guys?" Frank asked.

"Or what passes for it around here," Pierce muttered.

Ed was alarmed. Food was pretty much the highest thing on his priority list besides getting Al's body back. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Pierce smiled grimly. "You'll figure it out."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Major Margaret Houlihan, head nurse of the 4077th, walked into the mess tent and scanned the room for Major Frank Burns. He hadn't come to her tent last night, and she was more than a little annoyed. As soon as she found him…well, it wasn't going to be pretty.

She spotted him, at the same table as Pierce and McIntyre for a change. They weren't alone, though; there were a number of others she didn't recognize sitting with them. She remembered what Henry said about a group of soldiers coming from some country called Amestris. She'd never even heard of the place, though it sounded East European, but judging by the new arrivals' unfamiliar uniforms, she was guessing they were the group.

Her gaze came to rest on one in particular, a dark-eyed man with onyx-black hair and a lazy half-smile. She felt her heart speed up slightly, and decided that in the interest of diplomatic relations, she ought to introduce herself.

"Hello," she said, sliding onto the bench next to Frank. "I take it you are the envoys from Amestris? I'm Major Margaret Houlihan."

"Margaret, about last night…" Frank started. Pierce and McIntyre started giggling, as various members of the envoy blinked in confusion or smiled knowingly.

"Can it, Frank," Margaret hissed. Then, a little more loudly, she said, "I don't believe we've been introduced."

The black-haired man smiled, his eyes alight. "My name is Roy Mustang, Colonel in the Amestrian army." Unexpectedly, he reached across the table and took her hand in his, kissing it. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Margaret giggled like a schoolgirl. Such good manners, and a colonel!

"Colonel, we are here from the purpose of diplomatic relations," the woman sitting next to the Colonel said. "It might not benefit us to give Major Burns an aneurism."

Margaret stole a look at Frank, who was turning a vivid shade of crimson.

"No, I suppose it wouldn't," Mustang sighed.

A boy in the same uniform as the other Amestrians walked over to them, holding a tray, and plopped down ungracefully next to Margaret. He dug into the food he'd gotten, which Margaret, even after all her time at the 4077th, was unable to identify.

"I don't know what you were talking about," he said through a mouthful of the stuff. "This is actually pretty good."

"I honestly thought Radar was the only one who could eat that stuff," McIntyre said with a laugh.

"There's a betting pool back home about whether he even notices the taste of the stuff he eats or if he just inhales it," one of the Amestrians, a stocky, short-haired blond, put in.

"Hey, can I get in on that?" Pierce asked.

"I don't know if we can use your currency…."

Margaret rolled her eyes.

"What's wrong, Hot Lips? Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?" McIntyre asked.

Margaret flushed at the nickname as the entire Amestrian envoy burst into laughter.

"Maybe we should give Hawkeye a nickname like that!" another of the soldiers, this one ash-blond, gasped.

Margaret was confused for a moment until she realized that Hawkeye probably referred to the female Amestrian. The discussion of nicknames was cut short by a deadly glare from the same.

"So, Colonel, how'd you sleep?" the heavyset one asked.

The Colonel ran a hand through his hair, and Margaret found herself staring.

"The kid woke us all up at three in the morning," Pierce complained.

The boy glared at him, as the Colonel sighed.

"Wait, I don't remember anything…" Frank said, sounding confused.

"That's 'cause you slept through it," McIntyre snapped.

"Al warned you," another of the Amestrians, this one with black hair and glasses, mumbled.

"I know…" the Colonel grumbled.

"Who is Al?" Pierce asked. "You mentioned him last night, too."

"My little brother," the boy said, clearly not liking the attention he was getting.

"This is the first time the two of them have been this far apart," the Colonel said. "It's only natural that he'd be a little upset."

"Is his brother in the military too?" Pierce asked.

"H- no!" the boy exploded. "Mind your own business!"

"Well, he hasn't calmed down any," the heavyset Amestrian laughed.

"Tell me about it," the Colonel groaned.

The boy, meanwhile, was apparently taking his frustration out on his food, eating so quickly that Margaret was surprised he hadn't choked yet.

Frank had noticed, too. "Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

The boy froze like he'd been turned to stone. He turned slowly toward Frank, his eyes blazing. Margaret nearly gasped when she noticed them. She'd never seen golden eyes before.

She heard a soft squeaking noise issue from Frank. His eyes were wide with fear.

The boy's eyes were narrowed nearly to slits, his teeth clenched in anger. His entire body was tensed, and his hands were fists, his fingers curled up so tightly that they were shaking. He looked as if he was preparing to attack Frank.

"Dismissed, Ed."

Roy's voice cut through the sudden tension that had settled over the table.

"Dismissed," the Colonel repeated.

The boy paused for a second, then walked over to a table on the other side of the room, where Radar was sitting, his posture still tense. Margaret thought she saw the tray bending in his hands as he picked it up.

"Was it something I said?" Frank asked, confused.

The heavyset Amestrian rubbed his temple. "You never insult the kid's mom."

"Especially not after he had a nightmare," the ash-blond added.

"And never when Al's not around to hold him back," the glasses-wearer put in.

"…Okay," Frank said, still sounding confused.

"Ed's mother died when he and Al were young," Roy said, running his hand through his hair. "He's a little sensitive about things that have to do with her. Usually, he's not this bad, but he had one heck of a nightmare last night."

"Oh…" Frank said, at a loss for words. "Should I go and apologize?"

"If you try to talk to him now, you'll end up with a broken nose for your trouble," Roy laughed. "Let him cool down for a while."

Margaret watched the blond boy sit down next to Radar. "How old is he?" she asked.

"Fifteen," Pierce spat. "He enlisted when he was twelve."

Margaret blinked in surprise. She remembered watching her father when she was a child, and wanting to be in the army just like him, but she hadn't even really understood what being in the army meant when she was that age. She couldn't help but wonder what it must be like for him.

_A/N: Thank you for reading. I would really appreciate reviews—even just an "I liked this" or "You are insane, why are you writing a crossover this strange?" would make me really happy, because I'd know there are actually people besides miladyRanger, who I know in real life, reading this (Hi, miladyRanger! Happy Thanksgiving!) Next chapter: Actually, I haven't got a quote yet, but as far as what happens, Ed is starting to get ticked off at Pierce for how he's been treating Roy. In other words, be glad that fanfiction doesn't come with audio, because it's probably going to get loud. See you then!_


	5. Friends from The Second That We Met

_A/N: Okay, the long-awaited new chapter. Oh, and this is going to be a fairly long Author's Note, but stay with me, okay? _

_First off, I drew fanart! It includes illustrations of nine of the characters at various points in the fic,including one of Ed which does not happen for a few chapters yet…yes, I am sadistic enough to keep you in suspense until I get that chapter posted. The link either is on my profile or will be as soon as the changes to the profile save._

_Second, I realized today that life really does imitate art, or, in this case, fanfiction. Did you know that the Korean War never really ended, the other countries just pulled out and the two sides declared a ceasefire that's lasted a while? Apparently, people are worried that the ceasefire might end. Which would mean trouble, especially since North Korea has nuclear weapons. The U.S. is thinking of sending troops there again. I hope it doesn't happen, but if it does, we'll basically have a second Korean War. Geez, the real world is scary. _

_Speaking of fears, Breda's fear of dogs, which is only mentioned in the FMA manga, makes a special appearance this chapter, due to the fact that the author has this in common with him. It's a weird fear, I know, but I can't help it. They just freak me out._

_As for this chapter's quote, it's not a line from either series' scripts; instead, it's from the FMA: Brotherhood opening theme, Again by YUI. I owe the translation to Youtube's geekymcgeekstein, who did an excellent English fandub of the song. As far as disclaimers go, they're in the first chapter. All right, I'll shut up now. On with the Fic!_

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 4: Friends from The Second That We Met

"**Rumors they have spread about us / I do not know which was the first one / "We were friends from the second that we met," / Just stop with the lies already…." –"Again" by YUI, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood (First Opening Theme)**

Ed stomped across the mess tent and sat down next to Radar, bloody fantasies about exactly what he'd like to do to Frank Burns filling his mind all the way.

The bespectacled corporal gave Ed a look of concern that reminded him of Al and made him a little homesick.

"You okay?" Radar asked.

Ed sighed, the irrational anger that had flooded his thoughts after Frank spoke draining away. He was just tired and stressed and apart from his only real family.

"I'm fine," he said at length. "Do you mind if I sit here?"

"No, of course not!" Radar said emphatically. "Usually I sit with Hawkeye and Trapper, but it's a little crowded over there right now."

"Guess it is," Ed said. "I'm surprised, though. Pierce doesn't seem like an easy guy to get along with. Why do you sit with him?"

"Oh, no, Pierce is really a nice guy; he's just a little upset lately 'cause of—" Radar broke off.

"Of what?" Ed asked, raising an eyebrow.

"'Cause of you being fifteen and all," Radar said reluctantly. "You have to be seventeen to join the army here, and Pierce still thinks that's way too young. He gets upset about these kinds of things."

Edward pushed his tray back, then physically banged his head on the table.

"What did you do that for?" Radar asked, alarmed.

"Gah!" Ed exclaimed. "I'm just so d- tired of everyone else thinking they know what's best for me!"

"Well, I mean, you're still a kid, right?" Radar asked. "And that's what adults are s'posed to do for kids."

If anyone else had said that, Ed would have gone off on them, but Radar had an innocence about him that reminded him of Al. So he just laughed and shook his head.

"That's how it's supposed to work," he agreed. "But it hasn't worked like that, not for a while, and I'm used to being able to decide things for myself. Besides, Pierce isn't my father—lucky for him; if he were I'd be beating him up right now—and I'm not his responsibility."

"That makes sense, I guess," Radar said. "So, what are you going to do?"

Ed glanced over at Pierce's table. He couldn't hear the conversation, but he could see what was happening. Pierce was continuing his campaign against Mustang, and Mustang was just taking it.

That was probably what set Ed off more than anything. Sure, Mustang deserved every insult Ed threw at him. But he wasn't a complete jerk, and he hadn't forced Ed to do anything, no matter what Pierce seemed to think. Pierce didn't know anything about either of them, so what right did he have to make judgments?

"I'll figure something out," Ed said.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Pierce was laying back on his bed, reading a medical journal. There weren't any incoming casualties, so he was trying to catch up on surgical techniques while he actually had free time. Besides, he was trying to cut down on his drinking while there was a kid around.

Trapper was seated on his bed, reading one of his wife's letters, and Mustang and Ed had stayed in the mess tent after breakfast for some sort of meeting. It was oddly quiet in the tent, especially after last night.

The more Pierce thought about it, the more last night confused him. He'd seen nightmares like Ed's before, but usually in the people in Post-Op who had just been pulled off of the front. He couldn't imagine that Ed had actually been sent to the front lines, though, and what Radar had showed him in the boy's file corroborated that—the boy had never been forced to fight in an actual war. In fact, the closest the boy had ever been to any of the fronts was his hometown, which was itself fairly near the site of a civil war that had been mentioned in Mustang's file. It paid to be friends with the 4077th's chief clerk.

But it left the question of what Ed had been dreaming about. Also, why was Mustang, of all people, the one to comfort Ed after he had a nightmare? He couldn't actually care for the kid; he'd been the one who dragged him into the military after all. So why, then?

Pierce's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Ed's heavy footsteps. He swore, the kid couldn't move without making noise. He couldn't actually be that heavy enough to have footsteps that loud, right?

The short blond didn't even bother with pleasantries. "Leave Mustang alone," he said flatly.

It took Pierce a few minutes to figure out what Ed meant.

"Why should I?" Pierce asked coldly.

"Joining the military was my decision," Ed said.

"You were twelve!" Pierce snapped. "You were a kid! You couldn't have actually realized what you were doing!"

Ed stared at him with eyes that looked too old for his body. "I wasn't a kid. Not anymore. I knew what I was doing. I joined the military because I had to…." His voice trailed off.

"Because you had to?" Pierce demanded. "You mean he forced you to join?"

The boy nearly growled in frustration. "No! Don't you get it? I joined the military because of something I had to do! And if Mustang hadn't come along and suggested the military to me, I honestly don't even want to think about how I would've ended up!"

Pierce flinched under the intense glare of the Ed's golden eyes. They burned with anger, but also with something else…Pierce thought he recognized it as pain. Not for the first time, he wondered what the story behind the fifteen-year-major was.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ed gritted his teeth, trying not to let the memories overwhelm him. "When Mustang invited me to join the military, I was…I was in a really bad place."

_He was sitting in a wheelchair in Granny Pinako's kitchen. His shoulder and what was left of his leg still ached, and sometimes, he could still feel his arm and leg, even though he knew they were gone. Alphonse was standing behind him, in the steel prison the two of them called his body because it made them feel better about the fact that the younger Elric could no longer eat, feel pain, or even sleep. Ed was almost glad about the last one, because at least it meant that he was the only one who had nightmares. Every time Ed closed his eyes, all he could see was that thing he and Alphonse had created. They had only wanted to see their Mom's smile again. That was all. So, why…? _

"I wanted to give up."

_Mustang was standing on the other side of the table, his dark eyes blazing._

"Mustang was the one that convinced me to keep going. I know it doesn't make sense to you, but being in the military…gives me hope."

_ "You can either spend the rest of your life as a self-pitying cripple with a suit of armor for a brother, or you can join the military and try to find a way to get your original bodies back!" Roy shouted._

"The research I'm doing is important. I need to figure out how to undo a mistake I made when I was younger, and being in the military is the only way I can do it."

_A year later, Ed stretched out his automail arm, then waved goodbye to Al, Pinako and Winry._

_ He walked away from the house, toward Central and his State Alchemist qualifying exam._

"_I'm going to get your body back for you, Al, I promise," he said, more to himself than his brother, as he walked away._

"I owe Mustang. I swear I'll kill you if you ever tell him I said any of this, but I owe him. He's a jerk, yeah, but he always watches out for me and Al. He cares about the people under his command. He tries to protect them. And he sure as h- doesn't need you messing with him about getting me into the military when I know he's already guilty about it."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"He is?" Pierce asked.

"Dang idiot has the range of expression of a rock," Ed said. "Only reason I can read him at all is that I've known him for three years. He's not showing it, but he's definitely beating himself up about things."

"Things?" Trapper asked.

"The investigation we were working on before we left…to say it didn't go well would be the understatement of the century," Ed explained. "Actually, we've sort of managed to get ourselves in hot water with Central."

"How'd you do that?" Pierce asked.

"We were investigating evidence of corruption in high command."

Pierce didn't get a doctorate by being slow on the uptake. "Found out some things you weren't supposed to?"

"You have no idea," Ed stated. "Anyhow, Mustang's command used to have more men, and he blames himself for what happened to them. Believe me, he's beating himself up enough without you helping."

Pierce was silent for a few moments. "I'm sorry," he said at length.

Ed snorted. "I don't really care if you apologize or not. Just lay off on the insults."

"Fine, kid," Pierce said.

"Stop calling me that," Ed said. "It's annoying."

"I know," Pierce said, grinning. "That's why I did it."

Ed rolled his eyes. "That's the other thing. You guys are way too alike. Watching you pick fights with him was like watching him pick fights with himself."

"Okay, just because I'm laying off of him doesn't mean I want to be compared to him," Pierce said, crossing his arms.

"Doesn't matter if you want to be," Ed said flatly. "You two are alike, so much it's scary. You both think you know everything, you both think you're God's gift to women, and you both make annoying jokes about your subordinate's height—I talked to Radar."

"Ratted out by a midget," Trapper laughed.

Pierce fumed. Ed twitched, but he didn't explode this time.

The blond major took a deep breath and looked Pierce in the eye. "Also, you're both way too idealistic to be in the army, and both of you have this stupid idea that you need to protect the people around you. In other words, you're both idiots. But you're both the kind of idiots I can respect."

With that, he walked out.

Pierce blinked a few times, then laughed. "That's got to be the most interesting complement I've ever gotten."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Roy Mustang returned to his tent exhausted. Not from the meeting, either. It had been the meeting's aftermath that had taken a serious toll on both his energy levels and his sanity. They'd been leaving the officer's mess when the camp mutt ran up to them. Unfortunately, Mustang had nearly forgotten about Breda's extreme fear of dogs, even half-starved, flea-bitten ones. Mustang ended up picking up the dog and carrying it to the other side of the camp while the others had tried to calm Breda down. Ultimately, it had taken Riza pointing a gun at him just to get Breda to stop babbling.

Seriously, were people with psychological issues just attracted to him? Breda and his irrational fear of dogs, Ed and his…heck, Mustang wasn't sure how to describe the mess that was the Fullmetal Alchemist's mind…it was a miracle the kid hadn't had a breakdown yet…Maes and his obsession with his family….

No, he was not going down that route. Not now. Not in the middle of a foreign military installment, and certainly not while Dr. Pierce was still gunning for him.

He walked into the tent and pulled off his boots, barely aware of his surroundings. He just wanted to sleep. So he was surprised to see both McIntyre and Pierce staring at him expectantly.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"I said, do you want a drink?" Pierce said, holding out a glass filled with clear liquid. "You look like you could use one."

"Um, sure?" Roy said hesitantly, accepting the glass. Doctors took some oath that didn't let them poison people, right? He thought so. Pierce certainly disliked him enough to slip him something.

He took a drink of the liquid, and it burnt his throat so much that he nearly spit it out. Apparently Pierce was trying to poison him. "What the…" he gasped after he somehow managed to swallow.

Trapper laughed aloud, and gestured to a large, mostly metal contraption on a desk between his and Pierce's beds. "It's homemade," he explained.

"A still?" Roy asked, his jaw dropping. "They let you have a still in your tent?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Henry isn't quite as in charge around here as he could be," Pierce explained. "He figured out a while ago that if he threw out this still, we'd just build another one."

"So you guys made that thing yourself?" Roy asked.

"Hey, we're doctors," Trapper said. "We can put people back together; what makes you think we can't put together a still?"

"Good point," Roy acquiesced, taking another drink. It burnt less this time. "So, what's with the sudden change? You two haven't exactly been friendly up until now."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Trapper said sheepishly.

"Major Midget told us to lay off, and we decided to listen," Pierce explained.

Roy had been in the process of taking another drink and nearly spewed it out laughing. "Did you call him that to his face?" he asked.

"Nah, we didn't feel like messing with him today," Trapper said. "'Sides, he was kind of serious just now. Are you sure he's fifteen? Sometimes he acts a lot older."

"Yeah, he's fifteen, you've never seen anyone try to get him to drink milk…" Roy chuckled. "…Wait, _Ed_ told you to lay off?"

"Yeah, he said he owed you for getting him to join the military," Pierce said. "I don't understand how getting involved in the military is something you'd owe someone for, but he was serious about it. I don't like the fact that a kid that young is in the military, but if he doesn't have a problem with it, I guess it's not any of my business."

"He's a good kid," Roy said slowly. "He's a brat and a loudmouth, too, but he is a good kid. And he has his reasons for being in the military. He probably told you that. Hopefully, he'll find what he's looking for and get out soon."

"You really care about him, huh?" Trapper asked.

Roy shook his head. "I just don't think the military suits him. He's too idealistic, and that problem with authority of his isn't going to get him too far in the command structure."

Pierce raised an eyebrow. "Those your only reasons?"

Roy glared at him. "What are you implying?"

"That you think of him like he's your kid. I saw you with him after that nightmare. A commanding officer doesn't usually calm his subordinates down after they have bad dreams."

"That…that was…"

Trapper laughed. "A couple more drinks and you'll actually admit you like him."

"Like the shrimp? Yeah, right. He spends his free time disobeying orders and making up new nicknames for me, most of which involve profanity. Why would I like him?"

"Because you're an idiot?" Pierce asked.

Roy glared at him.

"What, I was just repeating what he said!"

Roy laughed and took another drink. _Okay, maybe this place isn't that bad after all_, he thought.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

_A/N: It's late, I should be writing a paper/papers, but I'm not, I posted this chapter, so be grateful! Or at least review. Next Chapter: "Attention, all personnel— due to circumstances beyond our control, lunch will be served today".- PA system, M*A*S*H. I can promise you the introduction of Klinger, as well as copious amounts of fluff and deliberate embarrassment of Mustang. You may go into shock from the cuteness of certain scenes. Don't worry, though, in two or three chapters I'll start the plot and things will get angsty fast._


	6. Circumstances Beyond Our Control

_A/N: Hi! I finally got the new chapter done! Sorry it took so long, I was determined to write fluff, but I have trouble doing it. And eventually, the angst snuck in anyway. Ah well. This chapter introduces Father Mulcahy, the 4077__th__'s chaplain (Ed's gonna be overjoyed) as well as Klinger. There ended up being about equal proportions of fluff and angst, so it turned out all right. I did more fanart, too, which you can find on my profile. It's of Ed with the bunny. "What bunny?" you may ask. You'll just have to read to find out!_

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 4: Circumstances Beyond Our Control

"**Attention, all personnel— due to circumstances beyond our control, lunch will be served today."- PA system, M*A*S*H**

A few hours after his talk with Pierce and Trapper, Ed looked around the tent and smiled wryly. He asked the doctors to be nicer to Colonel Idiot and this is what he got? Clearly something out there really did hate him.

The tent was a mess, the floor covered in clothing, bed-sheets, and magazines. It was easy to tell what had happened, as the whole room reeked of alcohol. As for the colonel and the two doctors, they were passed out on their respective beds, Mustang still holding a glass of clear liquid in one of his hands.

Ed allowed a wicked smile to form on his face. Hawkeye should definitely be told about this.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Roy awoke to the feeling of cold steel pressed to his forehead. On reflex, he snapped his fingers, but he wasn't wearing his ignition gloves, so it didn't do anything.

When he opened his eyes, the light was so searingly bright that he could barely see. His head throbbed, and his vision was blurry. He promised himself once again that he'd never drink again, but he was starting to realize how little those promises to himself actually meant.

He blinked, and the scene in front of him came into focus. It was Hawkeye who was pointing her gun at him. For some reason, this scared him more than the thought that it was one of the homunculi. Heck, at this point, if she turned out to be Envy in disguise, he was pretty sure he'd be more relieved than anything.

"Sir, we are on a diplomatic mission," Riza snapped. "One cannot conduct diplomacy while drunk. I do not want to hear about something like this again."

Roy nodded quickly, the action sending a spike of pain through his head.

Satisfied, Riza holstered her gun and walked toward the door. A few steps away from it, she turned to face Roy once more.

"By the way, I expect that all of your paperwork is done," she said. "Get it to me by lunchtime."

And with that, she left, the door swinging shut behind her.

Roy moaned. She wanted him to do paperwork with a headache like this? And people called Kimblee a sadist….

Wait, she said she'd heard about it? From who? After a few seconds, the answer became annoyingly clear. He was going to burn that shrimp to a crisp.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The furry shape squirmed in Ed's arms, its tiny paws pushing against his chest and forearm and its nails clicking against his automail. He winced as the nails dug into his shoulder, but couldn't prevent a small giggle from escaping his lips when the creature's furry head rubbed against his cheek.

"I think he likes you," Radar said. While he and Ed had talked at lunch, he'd offered to show Ed his rabbits. He hadn't really expected his offer to be accepted, but, to his surprise, Ed had showed up and asked to hold one.

Ed wrapped his metal hand around the rabbit's body, careful not to squeeze too tightly, and then petted it with his flesh hand. He couldn't feel it too well through his glove, but the rabbit's fur seemed soft. He continued to pet it as the rabbit squirmed in his grip and pawed at his shoulder. The feeling of the little, warm creature snuggled in his arms was just so nice. He could even feel the thrumming of its heart through the cloth of his uniform. He smiled contentedly. "I hope so," he said. "I like him."

Radar smiled, and Ed smiled back.

"Y'know, I never understood why Al likes cats so much," Ed said, almost to himself. "But now I think I get it."

"He likes cats?"

"Yeah," Ed chuckled. "He's always picking up strays and hiding them in his armo—in his clothes. I keep trying to tell him we can't take care of a cat, but he doesn't listen."

"How come you can't have a cat?" Radar asked. He couldn't think of a single reason not to have a cat, unless you were allergic to them. Maybe that was it?

Ed smiled sadly. "We travel around too much. And we're too busy to take care of one properly."

"Still, if you two want a cat, you should get one," Radar said. "Isn't there someone that could watch the cat while you were traveling?"

"I guess Granny and Winry could…." Ed said thoughtfully, stroking the rabbit's head. "Maybe we will get a cat…."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

By noon, Roy's hangover had subsided, but had been replaced by a new headache, this one born of paperwork. He swore that this was part of the homunculi's plan—giving the military personnel debilitating amounts of paperwork to distract them from the darker side of high command's plans.

And on top of that, the shrimp had disappeared somewhere, robbing Roy of his opportunity to set him on fire and release some stress.

He staggered out of his tent, completed paperwork in hand, and found his memories of the layout of the camp had become a bit blurry in the wake of the previous evening's activities. Hawkeye would be waiting for him in the mess tent. Unfortunately, he barely remembered where it was. Looking around, he saw a woman in a floor-length, lavender gown and a sunhat, her back facing him.

He tapped her on the shoulder and turned on his most charming voice. "Miss, would you mind telling me where the mess tent is? I seem to have lost my way."

The "woman" turned around and said, "It's right over there, but I ain't no miss, sir."

Mustang gaped as "she" was revealed to be a swarthy, large-nosed and extremely hairy man.

"You must be Colonel Mustang," the man said genially. "Pierce told me about you. The name's Maxwell Klinger, reluctant Corporal and all around nut. Say, do you think you could convince Henry I've lost it so I can get out of this place?"

Roy Mustang blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes. If this was part of the hangover, he was never drinking again.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

After he convinced the Amestrian that he wasn't a symptom of whatever McIntyre and Pierce had given him, Klinger decided that he liked the guy.

When Klinger explained his plan for getting out of the army to Mustang, the Colonel had stared for a few seconds and then burst out laughing.

"You're trying to get a psychological discharge?" Mustang asked. "That's brilliant! And then, once you get home, you'll miraculously recover, but you'll start having problems again every time the Draft Board comes after you!"

Klinger flashed him a smile. "Exactly."

Mustang regarded him for a few seconds. "I don't know how I feel about you trying to get out of the army, but I know a good plan when I see one, and I have to respect you for that. I don't know if I can do anything, but I'll do my best to help you get that discharge. But in return, I want you to help me." He chuckled. "In Amestris, we call it Equivalent Exchange."

"Help you…how?" Klinger asked.

"I don't know yet," Mustang said, his expression turning serious. "But there is a chance that things around here could go to heck at any time, and I need all of the allies I can get."

"Whaddya mean?" Klinger asked. "We're pretty far from the front."

"I'm not talking about the Koreans," Mustang said. "I'm talking about others from Amestris. Our country is unstable, and we managed to end up in the thick of it."

Klinger raised an eyebrow. "They wouldn't attack a hospital…."

Mustang looked him in the eye. "They would. They won't care who gets hurt in the process or what it does to the relationship between Amestris and the U.S."

Klinger gulped. He was beginning to realize how far in over his head he was.

Mustang's expression relaxed into a wry smile. "You have to understand, Klinger," he said. "The front is anywhere there's fighting. And if that's true, I suppose my subordinates and I carry around our own private front."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Father Mulcahy swallowed nervously and fiddled with the white collar around his neck. Somehow, it always felt tighter when he was anxious.

He'd never been quite as comfortable with strangers as his job indicated he ought to be, but the idea of meeting the Amestrian envoy made him especially nervous.

He'd heard some very odd stories around camp—something about a "regular army" version of Pierce, and a female Lieutenant Colonel who threatened her superior officer with a gun on a regular basis. A barely-comprehensible Frank had stuttered something about a golden-eyed demon with the body of a child during his confession yesterday. He doubted these rumors were actually true, but the fact that the newcomers had inspired such odd stories made him uncomfortable.

He tried to push those thoughts out of his head as he walked into the tent where Radar had told him the Amestrians were holding some sort of meeting.

There were six of them in the tent, all in identical uniforms. A dark-haired man who did very much resemble Pierce sat at the head of the table. He was currently on his feet, along with an extremely short, blond individual whose back was to Mulcahy.

"…all Al and I have to do is go out when we know Scar's around, and they'll come out!" he heard the blond say. "They told me themselves, they can't afford for me to—"

"You and your brother will not do anything so reckless, do you understand me?" the Pierce look-a-like snapped.

"Um, excuse me, I hope I'm not interrupting anything…" Mulcahy said hesitantly.

The boy glared at him from beneath golden bangs. "You've already interrupted, so why don't you just say whatever it is you were planning to say?"

Mulcahy suddenly understood Frank's babble about golden-eyed demons. The boy was surprisingly young, as well. He couldn't imagine how someone of his age had gotten into the military.

"Edward!" one of the other officers, a woman, said sharply.

The Pierce look-a-like's mouth quirked upward at the corner. "So, what do you want?"

Father Mulcahy cleared his throat. "Well, you see, I'm the chaplain for this unit, and I wanted to ask whether any of you were interested in attending religious services…."

"Well, we're not," Edward snapped. "So kindly shove off."

The officer who looked like Pierce sighed, then looked at Mulcahy. "I don't think we'll be requiring your services. Amestris is not the most…religious of countries."

"But surely—" Mulcahy tried.

Edward cut him off. "The last time I set foot in a church, the leader turned out to be a lying fraud who was trying to create an army of true believers that he could take over the country with, using a very dangerous weapon that was made in…in the most horrible way possible. He tried to kill my brother because he thought he was me, and then he tried to kill me. Can you possibly understand why I might not be jumping up and down at the prospect of going to church again?"

Mulcahy had no idea how to respond to that.

"See you later, Father," the Pierce look-a-like said.

"Um, yes, right," Mulcahy said, still somewhat dazed, as he walked out of the tent.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

That night, Ed was awakened from a very pleasant dream of being taller than Mustang by Radar's cry of "Choppers!"

He got up abruptly, golden eyes blinking sleepily and hair standing up even more than usual, as Trapper, Frank, and Pierce scrambled to get on their shoes.

"Wha's goin' on?" he asked blearily.

"There are casualties coming in and everyone has to report to the O.R.," Radar explained.

"Now?" Ed asked incredulously.

"Now," Radar confirmed.

"Dang it, half of the nurses are on leave right now," Pierce muttered to himself. "This is going to be another 48-hour one, isn't it?"

"Can we help?" Mustang asked.

"Well, at the very least, you can help move patients," Trapper said.

"Do any of the people under your command have any medical experience?" Pierce asked Mustang.

"I've cauterized wounds in emergency situations before…but that didn't turn out that well…and other than that, none of us really—"

"After Mom died, I lived with my neighbor, who's a surgeon and a prosthetics technician," Ed interrupted. "She had us assist her sometimes, so I'm a little familiar with the instruments. And my brother and I did a lot of research on anatomy when we were younger."

Pierce broke into a wolfish grin, and Ed blushed. "Not like that!" he protested.

Pierce's expression went back to being serious. "Okay, we're going to have you in the operating room, handing one of us instruments. Do you think you can handle it?"

Ed gulped, and nodded. He certainly hoped he could.

Some time later, he found himself handing instruments to Pierce as the doctor attempted to remove shrapnel from the abdomen of an unconscious soldier.

When the first patient had come in, he'd watched Pierce's work in fascination. If Ed was a genius at alchemy, then Pierce was his peer in the operating room, and the doctor hadn't even had to commit a taboo or see _that thing_ to get so good. It was amazing, really. Other people were always impressed by his alchemy, but Ed was rarely impressed by other alchemists. He almost always understood what they were doing right away, and he knew, if he put in the effort, that he could do whatever they were doing just as well or better. No, the people who impressed him were those who practiced crafts entirely separate from alchemy. He could try for as many years as he wanted, but he would never be as good of an automail mechanic as Winry, or gain Sheeska's amazing memory. He had no idea how to do those things, and that's why they were so amazing.

After a few patients, however, Ed started realizing why Pierce was so jaded about the army. He would be, too, if he had to spend hours on end patching up half-dead soldiers who would be safe at home if not for the army.

The weapons here were as devastating as Scar's alchemy, but nowhere near as clean. He never thought he'd apply the word "clean" to Scar's methods, but it was true. Scar deconstructed the entire body in one attack, killing his victim instantly. The weapons here were nowhere near as precise, sometimes only partially blowing their targets up. People were brought to the OR in pieces, or with pieces of the weapon in them. Some of the casualties hadn't even been hit by the other side, but had been caught by "friendly fire," a term as ironic as any Ed had ever heard. And most of them were only a few years older than Ed, a fact that didn't bother him until he realized that they weren't much older than Al, either. That thought had nearly caused him to throw up, right there in the middle of the operating room—a bad idea, since he was wearing a surgical mask.

Ed took a deep breath and told himself to focus, trying to ignore the cold sweat he felt breaking out on his forehead. He heard the metallic clinking of the clamp he was handing to Pierce rattling against his automail hand. He was shaking. Why was he shaking?

_Pull it together, idiot, _he admonished himself. _You've seen worse. And the guy on that table is counting on Pierce, who is counting on you. Hold it together._

"Ed?" Pierce asked.

Ed swallowed, hard, and passed the clamp to Pierce. "I'm fine. Concentrate on him."

Pierce nodded, and Ed could tell he'd said the right thing. If his own personal obsession was Al, Pierce's was his patients. They came first. Period.

Patients came and went. Pierce was able to take care of most of them without much trouble. Finally, one who'd been shot in the lung came onto the table. Pierce worked as fast as he could, requesting instruments after instrument at such a rate that Ed had to start guessing which one he would ask for just to keep up.

Finally, Pierce set down his knife. "Father Mulcahy!" he called, loudly enough to be heard over the noise in the OR.

The flustered priest hurried over and whipped some sort of necklace out of his pocket before beginning to mutter in some foreign language.

Ed shot Pierce a questioning look.

"Last Rites," Pierce explained softly.

Ed fought down the protest in his throat. Life only went in one direction, and he knew it. And he knew the cost of going against that flow. But a voice at the back of his mind whispered that he was so close to knowing how, and that if he just tried, he could do it. _No!_ he told himself. _Accept the flow of the world, d-it!"_

The man was lying on the table, the same as before. He didn't look any different than he had moments ago. And yet, something had changed. The body was still here, but the soul was gone. It was the same as his mother's death. She'd just looked like she was sleeping. Ed blinked back tears. _There's no time for this right now._

The father motioned for the orderlies to take the body away as Ed tried to swallow the gigantic lump in his throat. Beside him, Pierce wore an expression that he was all too familiar with—self-disgust.

"You couldn't have done anything, you know," he said.

Pierce glanced at him. "I'm the surgeon, not you, and there was a lot I could've done, but I was too stupid to—"

"You can't save everybody," Ed said, thinking of Nina. "You just can't."

Pierce stared at him for a few moments, then smiled a little. "You're a smart kid."

Ed glowered. "No, I'm an idiot who learns everything the hard way. But I'm also right."

Pierce rolled his eyes and moved on to the next patient.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  
_A/N: And there's the angst again. I really did try to leave it out of this chapter, honest. Anyhow, there's a link for the art of Ed with the bunny on my profile. Have mercy on me, as that was my first attempt to use Paint for fanart. Also, I can't draw rabbits. I had to get miladyRanger to approve my rough sketches because I had no idea whether they looked like real rabbits, and she's better at drawing animals than I am. Disclaimers aside, the next chapter will be up soon. I'm thinking of using this quote: "__You may want to be more discreet about such improper declarations." –Riza Hawkeye, FMA. The next chapter will be the last of the filler/establishing chapters, and then there will be a PLOT! Until then!_


	7. Improper Declarations

Paste your d

_A/N: I updated! Consider it your Christmas gift (hee hee). No, really, sorry for the wait. I was able to read the newest manga volume and it resurrected my inspiration. Roy's flashbacks are all directly from Arakawa-sensei's description of Ishbal in volume 15 of the manga, so credit there goes to her. The copy of the myth of Icarus I used in this chapter is from _Bullfinch's Mythology_, a very beautifully written mythology book that would have been available during the Korean war. I have a copy of the book, and it's also available online. If you're interested, just search the title. Anyway here's the last establishing chapter. Next time, plot will occur!_

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 6: Improper Declarations

"**You may want to be more discreet about such improper declarations." –Riza Hawkeye, FMA. **

Roy stood, frozen, in the middle of the compound, surrounded by the dozens of casualties that were coming in to the 4077th.

"Hey, Colonel, over here!" Breda called.

Everything smelled like blood. Roy hated how familiar the smell was.

His hands tightened into fists at his sides. He felt himself trembling. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as the flood of memories threatened to overwhelm him.

_Bodies strewn across the ground, men, women, and children, covered in blood and dust._

_The sound of his own fingers snapping as entire city blocks exploded in flames._

_The air, filled with the metallic smell of blood and the stench of burnt flesh._

_A man, half his dark-skinned face burnt beyond recognition, staring up at him with a single, tear-filled red eye._

_A raspy voice filling his ears. "So this…is how your people…would use alchemy. It should be…used for the…"_

_His fingers snapping again._

"…_benefit of the people…"_

_The brilliant red-orange light of another explosion filling his sight and erasing all evidence of the burnt man's existence, as both the man's last words and the sound of the explosion echoed in his ears._

"Colonel?" Breda called again.

Roy felt himself break into a cold sweat. His throat went dry. He stared straight ahead, but no longer saw his surroundings.

_The constant sounds of gunfire and alchemy filling his ears._

_The screams of the Ishballans as they died._

_Hughes and Riza looking at him with the eyes of murderers._

_His own eyes, reflected in the water, with the same look._

_An Ishballan man coming up behind him and Hughes with a knife clutched in his hand._

_The panic of realizing he didn't have his glove on. _

_The feeling of relief that flooded through him as Riza's bullet tore through the Ishballan's head. _

_The wave of guilt that followed the relief._

Roy suddenly felt like he was suffocating. The noise of the compound faded until it was only a faint buzzing in his ears.

_Riza's desperate, hopeless expression. _

"_Please tell me, Major, why are we killing citizens, when we, as soldiers, should be responsible for protecting them?"_

_Kimblee's intense stare._

"_Don't avert your eyes from death. Look straight ahead. Look squarely at the people you're killing. And don't forget them. Never forget them. Because they won't forget you."_

_The resigned look on Hughes's face._

"_It's simple. I don't want to die. That's all. The reason is always simple, Roy."_

He dropped to his knees.

"Colonel!" he heard Breda shout from far away. "Are you alright?"

Breda's shout snapped him back to reality just long enough to give him time to run to the latrines.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Riza Hawkeye found her commanding officer behind the officer's latrine, crouched on the ground and emptying the contents of his stomach.

He looked up, saw her, and then looked away, ashamed. He was pale as a sheet, and there were shadows beneath his eyes. There were shadows within his eyes, as well, and she was sure she recognized those.

"Ishbal?" she asked quietly. His silence was all the reply she needed.

"Get up, sir," she said gently.

"I can't believe I just lost it like that," Roy said, his voice thick. "I'm a soldier, and a soldier shouldn't—"

"You are also a human being," Riza interrupted. "A bit of weakness is acceptable."

Roy stared at her for a few seconds.

"I do have a nice side, sir," she said quietly. "Now, come on. The others are worried about you. And if you're gone long enough for Fullmetal to notice, you won't hear the end of it."

Roy laughed. It was strained, yes, but it was still a laugh.

Riza smiled to herself as he got up and followed her back to the OR. He wasn't the only one who was fighting it over again in his mind. She didn't know how many times Fuery had needed to pull her out of her memories while they were moving patients, but it was too many. She needed to be stronger if she wanted to be worthy of being entrusted with Roy's back. But at least she'd been strong enough to do this for him. She allowed her smile to grow a little wider. Maybe she was worthy of watching his back, after all.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Okay, I was wrong, it wasn't 48 hours," Pierce moaned, resting his head on his arms. "It was 43."

With all of the wounded taken care of, nearly everyone was in the mess tent, since most of the camp either hadn't eaten or had only gotten one meal over the last two days. Pierce, Trapper, Margaret, Frank, Radar, Klinger, Father Mulcahy, and all of the Amestrians had ended up squeezing into the benches around one table.

This meant, of course, that Ed was currently engaged in trying to eat as much as his small body could possibly hold.

"Why are you so d-n awake?" Mustang complained sleepily. Between the manual labor and the Ishbal flashbacks, he was exhausted. "You sleep all the time, usually, so you'd think the sleep deprivation would bother you at least a little."

"I'm used to pulling all-nighters researching," Ed said between mouthfuls. "Al and I used to stay up all night reading even when we were kids, and now, when we have projects, it's just more practical to skip a little sleep to get 'em finished. Of course, Al's better at it than I am…" His voice suddenly got quiet and trailed off.

"I hate to say it, but this is probably a situation where being like Alphonse would be easier," Mustang said. He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth.

Ed's eyes flashed. "It's never easier for Alphonse," he said sharply.

"The Colonel didn't mean it like that," Riza said.

"I know," Ed said. "It's just been a long day."

"And night and day and night," Trapper added tiredly.

If any of them had been awake enough, they might have laughed.

After a few seconds, Ed put down his fork. "You guys are amazing," he said suddenly, looking at Pierce and Trapper. "I wonder if Auntie and Uncle Rockbell were anything like you."

"You mean Winry's parents?" Mustang asked.

"They died in Ishbal, right?" Riza asked.

"Uh-huh," Ed said. "They were surgeons, just like Pierce and Trapper. They treated everyone—Amestrians, Ishballans…heck, if any Xingese had been stupid enough to wander into the area, they would've treated them, too."

"They sound like good people," Father Mulcahy said.

"They were," Ed said. "I'd really like to ask Scar what the h- he thought he was doing…"

Roy barely realized he was standing up until he was on his feet. "_SCAR!_" he demanded. "What the h- does he have to do with—"

"He killed them," Ed said flatly. "I found it out when Major Armstrong took me out East."

Roy did something that fell between sitting down and allowing his legs to give out under him. Silence descended over the group. The Amestrians looked horrified, while the Americans just looked confused.

Roy was the first to break the silence. "No."

Ed raised an eyebrow. "No? No to what?"

"To whatever harebrained plan for catching him you and Alphonse have," he said. A horrible thought entered his mind. "Wait, is that why you wanted to attract his attention?"

Ed flushed. "That was part of it, but—"

"Have you forgotten the last time you fought him?" Roy exploded. "He nearly killed both of you! If Alphonse had a normal body, or if I hadn't shown up the second I did, Maes's team would have been cleaning the two of you off of the street!"

"What about you, Colonel Useless? If it wasn't for Hawkeye…"

"What on earth are you talking about?" Father Mulcahy broke in.

"Scar's a serial killer," Breda explained. "He's been going after military personnel around the country for a while now. We had an encounter with him a while back, and it was pretty messy."

Trapper was the first of the Americans to regain his wits. "Messy how?" he asked.

"Alphonse got hurt, Ed was about to let Scar kill him in exchange for Alphonse's safety, and Colonel Mustang tried to use a fire-based weapon in the middle of a rainstorm, which almost resulted in his death as well," Hawkeye explained. "I tried to shoot him, but he was faster than the bullets. He eventually escaped into the sewer system under the city."

"I thought you said you were a researcher?" Pierce said, turning to Ed. "Why would he go after you?"

"I'm still military," Ed said. "And Mustang and I just happen to be in the part of the military that he particularly hates."

"Which is classified, by the way," Mustang put in. "Can't you keep a _little _secret like that?"

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO LITTLE THAT HE COULD BE MISTAKEN FOR HALF OF A GRAIN OF RICE BECAUSE HE ISN'T EVEN AS BIG AS A WHOLE ONE?" Ed yelled.

"He didn't say all of that," Fuery said weakly.

Klinger, who had been sleeping on the table, glared bullets at Ed. "I'm trying to sleep."

"Sorry," Ed said sheepishly.

Roy ran a hand through his hair. "Ed, I'm giving you a direct order. You will not go after Scar—"

"But…"

"Let me finish," Roy said. "You will not go after Scar without backup. Even if I ordered you to forget about it, you wouldn't, so at least let the rest of us help."

Ed stared at him, wide-eyed. Roy sighed inwardly. Did Ed really think he was that horrible? He knew how the kid felt about his mechanic, and he understood why he'd want to avenge her parents. After all, how different was it from what he himself was doing about Hughes' death?

"I'm not going to let you get yourself killed," Roy said. "It would be too much paperwork."

"As if I'd ever die before you, Colonel Useless," Ed shot back.

"Stop calling me that!"

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Pierce wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, but it wasn't long enough. He got out of bed, pulled on his boots, and stretched.

"You're finally up," Trapper said with a laugh. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, reading one of Pierce's months-old newspapers.

A drop of water fell through a tear in the tent's roof and onto Pierce's hair. "It's raining?" he asked.

Trapper nodded. "Since I woke up."

He heard a soft moan from the direction of Ed's bed and watched as the blond pulled himself to an upright position, muttering curses all the way. He winced, rubbed his shoulder, and slowly got to his feet. Pierce noticed that he was favoring his left leg.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," Ed muttered. "Had an accident when I was a kid. Rain makes it hurt. Going to get food now."

And with that, he limped out of the tent and into the downpour.

After reading over Trappers' shoulder for a while, Pierce decided to indulge his curiosity as to exactly what the kid was researching. The answer came as somewhat of a surprise to him.

"_One Thousand Recipes for Daily Living by Dr. Tim Marcoh_?" Pierce read incredulously. "This is what Ed's been 'doing research' on this whole time? It's a cookbook!"

At that moment, Ed walked back in, still limping, his golden bangs soaking wet and plastered to his forhead.

"Did you really think I'd bring sensitive research documents to a foreign military camp if they weren't encoded?" he asked irritably.

"Encoded?" Pierce raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Ed said. "It took me and Al two weeks to decode."

"So, there's actually something important in there?" Pierce asked.

"Most of the researchers who worked on the project it's about were killed in order to keep it secret," Ed said, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "The guy who wrote it is probably the only one still alive, and he's currently living under a false name."

"Okay, then," Pierce said, carefully putting down the handwritten notes. "Hey, don't you ever read for fun?"

"Research is fun," Ed said.

Pierce rolled his eyes. "Try and act like a normal kid for a second, okay?"

"But I'm not one," Ed said flatly.

Pierce knew that. It was what concerned him.

Hw rummaged through his things, picking out an object that his father had sent over a few months back, and tossed it to Ed, who caught it without a moment's hesitation. "I used to like this book when I was younger."

Ed scowled at him. "I'll read it if it'll get you off my case."

Pierce grinned.

A few minutes later, Ed was completely immersed in the tome. "Thought he'd like it," Pierce said to himself as he resumed the crossword puzzle he'd started before the last wave of casualties.

When he was almost done with the puzzle, save 3 across, which he could not seem to figure out, he was surprised to hear Ed reading the book aloud. His voice was soft, but it carried across the tent, so that Pierce could make out every word.

"_Daedalus built the labyrinth for King Minos, but afterwards lost the favour of the king, and was shut up in a tower_," Ed read, his voice slightly above a whisper. "_He contrived to make his escape from his prison, but could not leave the island by sea, as the king kept strict watch on all the vessels, and permitted none to sail without being carefully searched. "Minos may control the land and sea," said Daedalus, "but not the regions of the air. I will try that way." So he set to work to fabricate wings for himself and his young son Icarus…_" Ed fell silent for a few moments, then began to read again.

"_When at last the work was done, the artist, waving his wings, found himself buoyed upward, and hung suspended, poising himself on the beaten air. He next equipped his son in the same manner and taught him how to fly, as a bird tempts her young ones from the lofty nest into the air. When all was prepared for flight he said, "Icarus, my son, I charge you to keep at a moderate height, for if you fly too low the damp will clog your wings, and if too high the heat will melt them. Keep near me and you will be safe." While he gave him these instructions and fitted the wings to his shoulders, the face of the father was wet with tears, and his hands trembled. He kissed the boy, not knowing that it was for the last time. Then rising on his wings, he flew off, encouraging him to follow, and looked back from his own flight to see how his son managed his wings. As they flew the ploughman stopped his work to gaze, aid the shepherd leaned on his staff and watched them, astonished at the sight, and thinking they were _gods_ who could thus cleave the air_." Ed's voice took on a tone of disgust at this.

"_They passed Samos and Delos on the left and Lebynthos on the right, when the boy, exulting in his career, began to leave the guidance of his companion and soar upward as if to reach heaven_," Ed continued, his voice becoming impossibly soft. "_The nearness of the blazing sun softened the wax which held the feathers together, and they came off. He fluttered with his arms, but no feathers remained to hold the air. While his mouth uttered cries to his father it was submerged in the blue waters of the sea which thenceforth was called by his name. His father cried, "Icarus, Icarus, where are you?" At last he saw the feathers floating on the water, and bitterly lamenting his own arts, he buried the body and called the land Icaria in memory of his child…_"

Ed set the book down on his lap, and rubbed his shoulder again. His eyes were completely unfocused, almost vacant, for a few seconds, as if he was somewhere else entirely.

After a few seconds, he noticed Pierce's stare.

"You okay, kid?" Pierce asked.

It was a testament to how much whatever old injuries he had were bothering him that Ed didn't immediately start yelling at Pierce to mind his own business.

Instead, he offered Pierce a tired, lopsided grin. "I'm fine. It's just that we have a similar story back home. The hero who flew on wings of wax, but when he strayed too close to the sun, the wax melted and he fell to earth."

The goofy, forced smile that had never really reached his eyes disappeared. Ed gripped his forearm and stared at the ground, his eyes clouded with something that seemed like regret. "He tried to trespass in the realm of God and he paid the price."

Pierce regarded the boy silently. Ed was an enigma. His personality seemed to be constantly in flux. Sometimes, he was a short-tempered child with a height complex. But there were other times, like this one, when he seemed incredibly old. Pierce's natural curiosity was going crazy. He wanted to know the kid's deal, but he had a feeling that if he asked, the kid would just shut down on him.

Ed smiled, but once again, it seemed more pained than genuinely happy. "I can't really call it a favorite story, but it's one that…means a lot to me, I guess?"

"How come?" Pierce asked gently, hoping to finally get some sort of explanation.

"The…accident…that I mentioned?" Ed started hesitantly.

Pierce nodded, hoping he'd continue.

"It was…well, it was sort of the result of trying something I should've known was impossible," Ed said, breaking off eye contact. "But I tried it anyway…and, well, it sort of blew up in my face. Our faces, really. I managed to get Al involved, too."

"Does this…have anything to do with what Mustang said about Al's body not being 'normal'?" Pierce asked carefully.

Ed blanched.

_That's a yes,_ Pierce said to himself.

"Look, that isn't any of your business," Ed said defensively.

"I just asked a question, kid," Pierce said. "You don't have to answer it if you don't want to."

"Well I don't," Ed huffed, crossing his arms petulantly. "And I'm not a kid."

And the little boy with the short complex was back. Seriously, a person could get whiplash from Ed's personality changes.

Pierce went back to work on three across, muttering to himself that there was probably a mistake in the puzzle. Honestly, though, he just couldn't remember what maple seeds were called. After a few minutes, Ed wandered over and glanced over Pierce's shoulder.

"Samara," Ed said at length.

"Huh?"

"I don't know if you spell it the same way here, but that's the name for maple seeds. In Amestrian, it's spelled S-A-M-A-R-A."

Pierce tried it out, and it fit. "Do you do crosswords, too?"

"I used to, but they were kinda boring," Ed said. "Maybe if the clues were harder…."

Pierce sighed and shook his head. He was never going to understand Ed. But maybe that wasn't a bad thing.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

_A/N: Thanks for hanging in there. The next chapter is written, I just have to edit and publish. So, look forward to it! The next chapter will have two quotes in honor of the start of the plot, one from each series. Which ones? It's a surprise! See you then!_

ocument here...


	8. Liters and Cents

_A/N: Here starts the plot! I hope you like the quotes, I was surprised by how similar they are. Everyone who knows FMA knows the FMA quote, but I didn't remember the M*A*S*H quote and I really like it for this chapter. Oh, and to /gyrfalcon, thank you for your faithful reviewing, and I'm glad you've got an account. I'd like to reply to your reviews directly, but I can't do that while you have private messages disabled. Sorry. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy the new chapter!_

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 7: Liters and Cents

"**Water, 35 liters. Carbon, 20kg. Ammonia, 4 liters. Lime, 1.5kg. Phosphorus, 800g. Salt, 250 g. Niter, 100g. Sulfur, 80g. Fluorine, 7.5g. Iron, 5g. Silicon 3g. And fifteen other elements. Those are the elements to make an average adult human body. You can buy these elemental ingredients at the market with the pocket money of a child. Humans are made so cheaply."-Edward Elric, FMA**

**Without love, what are we worth? Eighty-nine cents! Eighty-nine cents worth of chemicals walking around lonely.- Hawkeye Pierce, M*A*S*H**

"I'm out," Trapper said, laying down his hand and pushing his chair back from the table.

A few weeks had passed since the last group of casualties, and Pierce, Radar, Trapper, Mustang, and Ed, having little better to do, had decided to play a game of poker. More accurately, the first four had decided to play poker and Ed had decided to take a break from his research to heckle them.

The blond boy peeked over Pierce's shoulder. "Maybe you should fold, too. I don't think I've ever seen a lousier hand."

"Can it, shrimp," Pierce said.

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING—" Ed started.

"Choppers!" Radar interrupted.

Pierce and Trapper were out of their seats in an instant.

"How many?" Trapper asked.

"Only one," Radar answered. "But there's something weird…"

"C'mon, let's go," Pierce said. "Mustang, Ed, you should come along too. Since there's only one chopper, you can see how we do things when we aren't spending 43 straight hours in surgery."

::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ed followed the doctors out of the Swamp and over to the landing pad. True to Radar's prediction, a "chopper" was landing as they arrived. The machine kicked up so much dust that Ed could barely see it, much less what the wounded in it looked like. Finally, the dust settled.

Radar had described "choppers" to him in the mess hall. Ed had told him that Amestrian choppers were really different from the American ones. He'd neglected to mention the fact that the only Amestrian "chopper" that he knew of was a now-dead serial killer named Barry who'd been bound to a suit of armor with a blood seal.

Anyhow, according to Radar, "choppers" were some sort of flying machine. He'd described them as round, with big, rotating blades called a "propeller" on the top that kept it in the air somehow. Ed could only guess at the physics of it; atmospheric transmutation was more Mustang's thing than his. The one in front of them was fairly close to that description, though it was a lot rustier than he'd expected it to be. He was just grateful that Winry wasn't here. She'd insist on taking the thing apart and then probably try to incorporate a propeller into his automail.

The pilot jumped out of the cockpit. "Only two this time," he said briskly. "One of them was fine till 0800 hours, when he started coughin' up blood. The other one…well, your guess is as good as mine."

Suddenly, Ed noticed the stretchers attached to the sides of the helicopter. And then, he noticed the…thing in one of them.

It was human, he supposed. It looked like a human, or what a human might look like if you stretched them out and twisted them like a piece of taffy. The body parts were connected all wrong, and the skin stretched over them was practically translucent. It was bleeding so profusely that its stretcher was dyed red. It wasn't moving, either. It had probably died during transfer.

No one heard the next thing Ed said, which was fortunate, since no one at the 4077th at that moment would really understand what he meant.

"Mom…" Ed choked out.

Then, the other patient woke up, and immediately started screaming. Ed looked over at them. It was a man, probably in his twenties, with short, brown hair and blue eyes that were strangely blank.

Slowly the screaming turned to babbling, and, as he listened, Edward felt his stomach drop.

"No, you can't let it take me…I didn't mean to do it, I swear… I just wanted to see him again…he was my friend….they told me I could see him again! So I did it…but then there was light but it was wrong light, you know, and there was a big door in front of me, and that…that thing, the white thing with the big smile…and the hands came out, and it was all rushing, rushing through my head, and then I was back with the white thing, and it said it wanted equivalency…"

His vision lost its focus, and he felt his mouth go dry.

_No…_he gasped inwardly. It was all he could do to keep his breakfast in his stomach.

Blurrily, he saw Mustang looking in his direction. "Ed, are you all right?"

"'m fine," Ed protested, right before he passed out.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Pierce, meanwhile, had been too focused on the patients to even notice Ed's fainting spell. One had died in transfer, of blood loss, it seemed, but the other was still alive and Pierce was determined to keep him that way.

He circled the operating table as Margaret touched the kid's forehead.

"He's not running a fever," she said, sounding confused.

Operating on a hunch, Pierce opened the patient's shirt. And stared. The kid's chest and stomach were covered in a single gigantic, bright red bruise.

Margaret glanced at him. "Internal bleeding?" she asked.

"Bingo," Pierce said grimly. "I'm going to have to go in there and close up whatever wound the blood's coming from."

Minutes later, he was cutting into the patient's abdomen.

"Retractor," he said, without looking up.

Margaret obliged, pulling back the skin of the patients' stomach. Pierce stared, then cursed.

"Okay, Hot Lips, I'm going to need a kidney and a liver," Pierce said. "Possibly some other organs, too, but we'll start with those. Do we still have any?"

"Yes, we have organs, but how…there was no wound when he came in here, so how can he be missing organs?" Margaret asked.

"We'll figure that out after we get him stabilized," Pierce said.

Honestly, he was wondering the same thing. This just wasn't natural. Then again, figuring out what was and wasn't natural wasn't his job. Keeping the patient alive was. He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the organs, and prayed to whoever was out there that the kid would pull through.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ed came to in the Swamp. Mustang was seated on the edge of his bed, giving him a suspicious look.

"Okay, what the h- was that, Fullmetal?" Mustang asked, apparently forgetting about which nicknames he was and wasn't supposed to be using. "You and I both know you've seen more blood than that in the past. Heck, you've probably seen more of your own blood than that. What's going on?"

Ed fought back the bile in his throat. "The guy they brought in on the chopper, the one who was coughing up blood? He committed the taboo," he said flatly.

"What?"

"There are two things that alchemists are forbidden from doing, and, in case you hadn't noticed, you don't normally get that kind of outcome from turning something into gold," Ed snapped.

"Wait, human transmutation…" Mustang breathed, "but then how did he—"

"Still have all of his limbs?" Ed finished. "They said he was coughing up blood, right?"

"Yeah, but what does that—" Mustang started.

"I found out recently that someone else I know also tried human transmutation, only, instead of losing their limbs, they lost some internal organs."

"Someone else?" Mustang asked, surprised. "Who?"

"I can't tell you," Ed said. "She'd kick mya- if I did."

Roy's eyes widened. "WINRY!"

"H- no, idiot!" Ed snapped, sitting up. "She doesn't know anything about alchemy, and, anyhow, she's not stupid enough to try something like that, especially after what happened to me and Al."

"Who, then?" Mustang asked.

"I told you, I can't tell you. If she found out I told a member of the military about it, she'd beat me to a pulp and then kill you."

"Are you sure about this, Ed?" Mustang asked. "Human transmutation is a serious accusation."

Ed met his commanding officer's intense stare with one of his own. "The things that guy was saying…he was describing human transmutation. And he was way too accurate to have only heard about it from someone else. Not to mention that the other injured person….they, well….they looked like what we brought back. He committed the taboo. I'm sure of it."

Mustang absorbed this information in silence. Ed knew the Colonel was a little out of his depth. The colonel had never asked about what happened during the failed transmutation, and Ed hadn't exactly volunteered information. After a few seconds, Mustang nodded, almost to himself.

"All right," Mustang said. "But how would a private in the American army know alchemy? As far as Amestrian Military Intelligence knows, they don't practice it at all."

"They wouldn't," Ed said. "Someone showed them how. In other words, we aren't the only people here who know about alchemy."

"The homunculi?" Mustang asked.

"It has to be," Ed said. "But we don't know which one. And we can't rule out the possibility of a human working for them."

"Who could possibly…."

Ed gave him a Look.

"All of Central Command…right…." Mustang said with a sigh.

Just then, Pierce walked back into the tent. He looked exhausted.

"How is he?" Mustang asked.

"He's stable," Pierce said flatly. "We're going to send him to Seoul as soon as we can get a chopper."

Ed looked at Mustang, who nodded, and turned to Pierce.

"We need to talk to him as soon as he wakes up," Mustang said. "We have reason to believe he's committed a crime under Amestrian law."

"Hold on, now," Pierce said, anger entering his voice. "The man just barely made it out of surgery. I'm not letting you drag him back to your country and shove him in a stockade."

Ed winced. Hadn't Mustang figured out yet that his "commanding officer" voice ticked Pierce off? The doctor distrusted the military command system even more than Ed, and with less reason, to boot. Okay, yeah, the Americans were idiotic, disorganized, corrupt, and occasionally bloodthirsty, but at least they were all human.

The blond alchemist found himself in the unfamiliar position of the mediator. "We aren't arresting your patient," he said, in the voice he used when calming Winry down after he broke her automail. "He couldn't have known that what he was doing was wrong. But he shouldn't have been able to do it all, which suggests that someone else told him how, or maybe even forced him to do it. And that person needs to be stopped. Your patient got off easy. Next time, it could be worse."

"He's missing half of his internal organs," Pierce snapped. "You call that easy?"

Ed returned the doctor's stare. "I do. He lost a couple of organs, he was found almost immediately, and he was operated on only hours after the loss. If there's no rejection, he'll be able to live a nice, normal life with only a surgical scar to remind him of the whole freakin' mess. Normally, the results of this kind of crime are a little…messier. And more permanent." Unconsciously, he clenched both hands into fists at his sides.

"What's this guy gotten mixed up in, anyway?" Pierce asked.

"That is way more classified than you can ever imagine," Ed said tightly. "But it isn't anything good, in case you hadn't realized."

"I told Ginger to tell me when he wakes up," Pierce said. "You can ask him whatever you want after I examine him. But, for right now, I'm going to sleep."

With that, Pierce collapsed onto his bunk, and, within minutes, his breathing followed the regular, easy rhythm of a sleeper's.

"He falls asleep even faster than you do," Mustang laughed.

"Shut up."

Mustang's expression turned serious. "The other one… that thing…was that what it looked like when you tried—"

The image of the thing that was supposed to be his mother filled Ed's mind, and, suddenly, he felt exhausted. "I think Pierce has the right idea," he said, laying back down and turning so that his back faced Mustang.

He heard the bedsprings creak as Mustang stood up.

:::::::::::::::::::::::

Ed hadn't answered his question, but the impossibly broken look on the teenager's face had spoken volumes.

The sight of the creature that Hawkeye's new patient had apparently created wouldn't leave Roy's mind. He'd seen his share of horrors in Ishbal, but there was something inherently _wrong _about that creature. Ghostly pale skin, streaked with blood and stretched over bones that stuck out at grotesque angles…it went against nature. His stomach churned, just thinking of it.

He tried not to, but he couldn't help imagining what it would like to be eleven years old and alone in a basement, bleeding and unable to get up, not knowing where his brother was, and calling out for his mother. And then, seeing that.

_I think I'm starting to understand why he has nightmares_, Mustang thought grimly.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

_A/N: I hope you're liking the plot. I'm excited to see what you think of it. I know that compared to last chapter, this is shorter, but the next one should be a bit longer. By the way, I thought there were either two taboos-gold and human transmutation-or three, but if there's a third, I can't remember it. If you know the third, or even if you just know for sure that there is one, I'd appreciate if you left a review so I can correct my mistake. Actually, I'd just appreciate it if you left a review in general. It makes me feel like I'm not just writing to myself. Thank you, and see you next chapter!_


	9. Innocent Bystanders in Hell

_A/N: Hey, everyone! Thank you all for your reviews. I think I have some of the best reviewers ever, seriously. Anyhow, here's the new chapter. By the way, I have to apologize to miladyRanger, because I know how far you've gotten in the series, and this chapter has some spoilers past that point. I'm sorry, the characters made me do it. Anyhow, this chapter contains some pretty sizable spoilers, specifically, for when Ed's father shows up while he's in Resembool. If you can, try to watch those episodes of the anime before reading this. Okay, the random aside is over. By the way, I'm going on a trip for the next three days, so the earliest you'll get an update is Thursday. Enjoy!_

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 8: Innocent Bystanders in Hell

"**There are no innocent bystanders in Hell. War is chock full of them - little kids, cripples, old ladies. In fact, except for some of the brass, almost everybody involved is an innocent bystander. – Dr. Hawkeye Pierce, M*A*S*H**

When Ginger came in and woke Pierce, Ed followed him to the Post-Op ward along with Mustang.

The man…or boy, really, he was younger than Ed had originally thought, and couldn't have been that much older than 18 or 19, was lying in his bed, completely still except for his lips, which were moving at an astonishing pace, though no sound issued from him. His blue eyes stared at the ceiling blankly.

Pierce turned to Ginger. "How's he been doing?"

"He's been stable for a good fifteen minutes now," the nurse said, brown eyes serious. "At least, his vitals have been. His mind's another story entirely. He's been mumbling to himself ever since he woke up."

Ed approached him slowly, and was careful to speak to him quietly. He'd learned how to deal with this sort of thing from years living at Granny Pinako's and interacting with her patients, most of whom had lost more than limbs on the battlefield. That didn't mean that the soldier's blank eyes didn't freak him out. It just meant that he'd learned, through all of the things he'd witnessed, most of which ranged from mildly freaky to therapy-inducingly disturbing, to shove the "freaked out" part of his mind into the back until he could afford to lose his cool.

"What you did…" Ed began, "…can you tell me who told you how to do it?"

"Thomas did," the soldier said, his voice monotone.

"Thomas?" Ed asked.

"Yes, Thomas told me how to bring him back," the soldier continued. "He told me that if I just put my hands on the circle and thought about him, he'd come back. He told me it would be just like before…like there was no explosion, and the ground didn't go into the sky, and I couldn't find him…"

The soldier started whimpering.

"Shh…" Ginger said. "Maybe you should go…"

Ed smiled reassuringly at her. She reminded him of Winry when she was being protective of patients. "Just one more question," he said.

"Okay," Ginger said with a nod.

"Who did you try to bring back?" Ed asked softly. "Who was it?"

"Thomas," the soldier said, in the same flat tone.

The meaning of that statement hit Ed like a ton of bricks. _Envy, it's gotta be Envy…_ But before he could let loose a string of curse words, the soldier turned his strangely empty eyes on him.

"I saw you," he said. "I saw you there, in front of the door."

Ed's breath caught in his throat. _Al…_ he thought. And then, he felt Mustang's hand resting lightly on his flesh shoulder. He looked over his shoulder at his commanding officer. Mustang's dark eyes were unusually soft. They said, "I know this is hard for you. But you can do it." Normally, Ed would have cursed the colonel out for even looking at him in that way, but, even if he would never admit it, not even under torture, he knew that Mustang's presence was all that was holding him together at the moment.

The soldier continued, oblivious. "You were there, weren't you? So you must know! Thomas, is he here? Did I bring him back? Can I see him?"

Ed's eyes widened. He didn't remember what had happened. He'd completely forgotten that…_thing_…that had been created by his attempt to resurrect Thomas.

The soldier's eyes were wide and pleading. Ed couldn't meet them. He looked away from him, staring at the ground with enough intensity to set it aflame, and tried to talk past the lump in his throat.

"He's gone," Ed said softly. "You didn't bring him back, because you _couldn't_ bring him back. The world only flows in one direction, and no one can change that."

The soldier just stared at him.

"I'm sorry," Ed said, turning around and leaving the tent.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Mustang followed his subordinate out of Post-Op without a word.

"You're not going to tell him?" Mustang asked.

"Knowing that he made…_that_…would only make him more upset," Ed said. "I—I can't."

A silence fell over the pair.

"So, it was Envy," Roy said at length.

"Yeah," Ed said. "We're going to have to be careful. He could be anyone."

A silence fell over the pair. "Do you think the Americans will identify the corpse as belonging to Thomas?"

"They won't," Ed said flatly, staring straight ahead.

"But they'll be able to identify it by its physical characteristics," Roy pointed out.

"No, they won't," Ed said. "Most likely, the…person…he brought back doesn't have any of Thomas's physical characteristics, the same way that what Al and I brought back didn't have any of Mom's."

"It didn't?" Roy asked, staring at Ed. "You knew the whole time that what you brought back wasn't your mother? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I only found out a little while ago," Ed said, an edge building on his voice.

Roy continued to stare at him.

After a few minutes, Ed spoke again. "After I went to the East with Armstrong, I stopped back in Resembool. The b- was there."

Out of habit, Roy protested, "I was not!"

Ed laughed, his expression relaxing. "The other one. My father."

Roy's jaw dropped. "He came back?"

Ed stared at the ground. "Yeah. I heard the jerk asking Granny if what we brought back…if it was really Mom. I realized that I didn't know, not for sure, so I decided to find out."

"Find out?" Roy asked. "How?" A horrible thought entered his mind. "No, you couldn't have…."

"Yeah, I almost couldn't," Ed said, his voice unusually shaky. "But I did. Granny Pinako and I dug her up."

Roy stared at his subordinate. Ed was staring at the ground, unruly blond hair falling over his golden eyes, which were blinking rapidly. After a few seconds, a white-gloved hand rose to rub them. He was still in the blue uniform of the Amestrian army. It looked too big for him. Once again, Roy felt his stomach twisting with guilt at the thought that Ed was in that uniform because of him. No matter how much he needed the Fullmetal Alchemist for his political plans, he couldn't help but wonder if it was all right to put Edward Elric through more than he'd already been through.

He cut off that train of thought as soon as it started. Ed was not his responsibility. Roy wasn't his father. That title belonged to…the same utter idiot who had given Ed the idea of _digging up his mother's grave_ in the first place. Okay, so maybe relying on Ed's biological father to fulfill his role wasn't such a great idea. But that did not make it Roy's job. It didn't. So why the heck did he keep trying to do it?

He rubbed his temples. Between those flashbacks he'd had a while back and these delusions of parenthood, he was about to march himself to the nearest psychologist.

Ed, meanwhile, seemed to have gotten ahold of himself. "It wasn't all that bad," he said. "I only threw up a few times," he continued, as if that was something to be proud of. "And, between that and what I saw in the Gate on the way here, I was able to confirm that Al's body is still alive, in the Gate, which means that all we have to do to get it back is figure out the equivalent exchange. Not to mention, it has some interesting ramifications for another theory the two of us had…"

Roy allowed himself a tired chuckle. If Ed ever stopped thinking about everything in terms of science…well, it would be like Riza deciding that she preferred hand-to-hand combat to guns.

"So it wasn't your mother?" he asked.

"It had black hair, not brown, and it wasn't the right height," Ed said. "If I hadn't lost so much blood, I would have noticed on that night."

Something else suddenly hit Roy. "…Wait, you didn't know that Al's body was alive somewhere until now?"

Ed blinked. "Nah, we thought we might have to make a new one. I was really nervous about it, too, because I would have had to guess about how he should look as a fourteen-year-old, plus we weren't really sure how to attach his soul to a new body, after all a blood seal won't work on skin, it needs iron for the iron in the blood to bond to…" The volume of his voice fell as he began muttering about the particulars of constructing a body from scratch.

Roy found himself staring again. This boy… he was such a reckless idiot that Roy forgot that he was also a genius. And an incredibly brave one—he had to realize, at some level, that any attempt to restore Al's body had the potential to end as badly as the incident that he lost it in. But still, Ed was determined to go through with it. Sometimes he forgot how unusual the Fullmetal Alchemist was. He wondered where all of that strength came from, and he wondered if Ed's father knew how much he had to be proud of. Not that the man had been involved with Ed to any extent beyond genetic material, but still….For a moment Roy's thoughts betrayed him, and he found himself thinking that he'd be proud to be Ed's father.

"You really are amazing," he finally said.

Ed looked at him, confused. "What's so amazing about me? I mean, compared to you I am, but that's true of almost anyone." The last part was said with a cocky smirk

Roy scowled. "I compliment you and this is how you repay me?"

Ed grinned at him cheekily. "You're getting soft in your old age, Colonel. Keep it up and you'll never be Fuhrer."

"I will, and as soon as I take office, I'll pass a law requiring all shrimp to drink milk."

"I don't know why you're telling me that, because I'M NOT A SHRIMP!"

Roy laughed out loud as Edward fumed. Seriously, distracting Ed was way too easy.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The hours passed slowly as Pierce tried to focus on the medical journal in his hands. He had a gut feeling about his patient, and it wasn't good. If he was honest with himself, he was waiting for things to fall apart.

Surely enough, they did, and spectacularly.

It was around six in the evening when Ginger ran into the Swamp. Pierce's stomach dropped as he noticed how disheveled she looked. Ginger cared about her appearance. There were only a few explanations for why she would be in such a state, and Pierce didn't care for any of them.

"Your patient's rejecting the transplants!" she exclaimed.

Pierce swore to himself. Why was he only right when he didn't want to be?

"Is he prepped for surgery?" he asked Ginger.

"Of course. Major Houlihan is waiting for you," Ginger answered.

Pierce allowed himself a small inward laugh at her use of Hot Lip's given name. A few days ago, Hot Lips had caught one of the nurses using her camp nickname and had given the entire nursing staff heck over it. She'd frightened all of them enough to ensure that no one under her command would use that name for a while.

"Lead the way, Ginger," Pierce said theatrically, trying to ignore the uneasiness in his stomach. He wasn't the kind of guy that believed in premonitions, or anything else that couldn't be proven, but he had a bad feeling about this one.

He followed Ginger to the OR, hoping he wasn't too late.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Klinger walked carefully toward the supply tent, hoping that his turquoise blue pumps would last at least until his shift was over. They were the only ones that matched the blue-green sundress he was wearing, and if he was going to pretend to be a cross-dressing psycho, he might as well be a color-coordinated one. Besides, he doubted that either Pierce or Hot Lips would appreciate their surgery being held up because his heel broke before he could get the anesthetic they needed.

He pulled a key out of a pocket on the dress's skirt, but when he tried to unlock the door, he found that it was already open.

"Coulda sworn I locked it," he muttered to himself. Maybe he was actually going crazy. Or, more likely, Hot Lips had given someone else an errand to the supply tent and they'd forgotten to lock it.

He was about to go inside when he got the weirdest feeling in his gut, like someone was watching him. But when he turned around, he didn't see anyone, just the camp mutt.

_Is it just me or is that dog watching me? _He asked himself. It was creepy. The dog's eyes were following him in a way that made him feel like he was a piece of raw meat and the dog was feeling hungry.

_Maybe I really am losing it,_ he thought as he headed into the tent.

When he came out, the dog was gone, but Ed was sitting on a crate near where it had been. He waved at the kid. The two of them hadn't really met, but it was hard to miss Ed—he was fifteen and short for his age, with golden hair and eyes, for crying out loud. You couldn't really mistake him for anyone else.

The kid waved back, a small smile on his face. For some reason, his teeth seemed a little sharper than usual. The effect was a little creepy.

Klinger forced a smile in return, and hurried toward the OR. That feeling in his gut was just getting stronger, and Klinger trusted it. Something bad was going to happen, and soon.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Back in the Swamp, Ed glanced at Trapper and Frank, seemingly to make sure they were still asleep, before turning to Roy.

Roy paid attention. The kid was actually being cautious, so this had to be important.

"I was afraid this would happen," Ed said.

Mustang raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Ed stared at his boots. "Me and Al came up with this theory a while ago, about the Gate. We thought that maybe, once you paid something to the Gate, you couldn't just replace it unless you paid another toll. I mean, it would be hard, but we probably know enough bio-alchemy to replace my limbs, at least. We just weren't sure it would work...when you give something to the Gate, the Truth calls a 'toll'…"

"The Truth?" Roy asked, baffled.

"When you attempt human transmutation, you see him…it…I'm not sure, it's just really strange, and he…it… talks to you, and it's really creepy," Ed said haltingly.

"Okay, then," Roy said, deciding to leave that subject for later. "What do you mean 'a toll'?"

Ed looked him in the eye. "When you see the Truth…it's like all the information in the world is getting shoved into your head. I can only transmute without a circle because I saw it. And after I saw it, my leg got taken, and the Truth called it 'a toll.'"

"So, it was like you paid admission or something?" Roy asked, feeling sick to his stomach. What kind of deal was that-exchanging body parts for knowledge? "Wasn't it just your punishment for committing the taboo?"

"I'm beginning to think I was wrong about that," Ed said. "I think it was a toll."

"If that's the case, then…." Roy said slowly.

"…Then this guy can't get back his internal organs without paying another price, like I paid for Al with my arm," Ed finished for him. "Because his organs were payment for getting to see the Truth. And if he has both his knowledge of the Truth and his organs, he's violating equivalent exchange. But the Truth won't allow that."

"So his body has to reject the organs?"

"You can't bypass equivalent exchange without a Philosopher's Stone, so, unless he has one, he would have to find someone else who was willing to trade their organs for his if he wants to keep them."

"Wouldn't the organ donor giving them up count?"

"Judging by the fact that he's rejecting the organs, I'd say no," Ed said grimly. "Besides, the organs weren't sacrificed by anyone. They were taken from dead soldiers who didn't need them anymore. I don't think those count as sacrifices to the Truth."

The disgust must've been showing on Roy's face, because Ed laughed a little. "I know, the Truth's a sick, sadistic b-."

"So you're telling me that the Truth is what's in the Gate we came through to get here?" Roy said, fighting down the bile in his throat.

"Yeah," Ed said.

"I'm not looking forward to the return trip."

"Just be glad you haven't actually seen it. Creepiest thing I've ever seen, I swear."

Considering that Ed had seen Shou Tucker's chimera, the results of a failed human transmutation, Scar's murder victims post-deconstruction, and multiple homunculi, that statement just made Roy feel worse about the whole situation.

Hughes had always jokingly called alchemists 'freaks.' Roy was now leaning toward agreeing rather than laughing. What the heck had he gotten himself and his subordinates into, anyway?

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Around midnight, Pierce staggered toward the Swamp, not nearly as drunk as he'd like to be. Despite all of his efforts, his patient had died after rejecting every single organ that had been transplanted into him. In response, Pierce had headed to Rosie's and attempted to drink enough to even forget that he was a doctor, but Rosie had decided she wanted to close early and kicked him out before he was able to reach that goal.

He swore to himself. Couldn't he keep one kid alive? It was just a couple of organ transplants. The kid had been perfectly healthy beyond the missing parts, and he should have been able to handle the transplants. He didn't understand what had gone wrong, and that ticked him off more than anything.

"Hey, Pierce," he heard someone say. He turned in the direction of the voice and stared at a blue-and-yellow blur in the shadows between the tents. After a few blinks, the blur started looking like Ed.

"Ed, what are you doing out here?" Pierce asked, confused.

"Helping you," Ed said. "Come over here."

"Helping me?" Pierce asked, his brain feeling a little fuzzy. "How?"

Ed grabbed his arm and dragged him into the shadows. "I'm going to help you get that patient back."

Pierce stared. Even in his somewhat-drunk state, he knew that was impossible. "He's dead, Ed. You can't get people back when they're dead."

Ed flashed him a smile that was more terrifying than reassuring. "Yes, you can. I figured out how-that's how I was able to get into the military when I was so young. I wasn't supposed to tell you about it, though. It's a military secret, really classified. You cannot tell the Flame Colonel about this, understand?"

Pierce nodded uncertainly. The Flame Colonel? Was Ed talking about Mustang? No, who cared about that, he was getting his patient back! Wasn't this what he wanted, a way to fix his mistakes? Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth, he decided.

Ed gestured to a circular design drawn on the ground and filled with interconnected geometric shapes. In its center were piles of materials that the conscious part of Pierce's mind recognized as chemical elements, as well as a big basin of water.

"What's that?" Pierce asked, genuinely confused.

"It's called a transmutation circle," Ed said. "I know it looks weird, but trust me, it'll work. All you have to do is put your hands on the ground in front of it and concentrate."

_"You can't save everybody,"_ Ed's voice said, suddenly echoing in Pierce's mind. _"You just can't."_

And another memory. _"He tried to trespass in the realm of God, and he paid the price."_

Something important was tugging at the edge of his mind. But the combination of alcohol and exhaustion was scrambling his thoughts, and try as he might, he couldn't put his finger on what it was. And besides, all of that was overridden by the thought of bringing the kid back. If he did this, he'd be saving the kid's life. And wasn't that what doctors were supposed to do? They certainly weren't supposed to screw up simple organ transplants and kill otherwise healthy patients. He'd screwed up, and the kid had paid the price. Now, he was going to put his mistake right, and if he ended up paying for it, so be it.

_A/N: How many of you would believe me if I blamed the characters for the cliffhanger, too? Anyhow, the update will probably come toward the end of the week, maybe Thursday or Friday. Here's the quote I'm using—the only one that's from the original anime rather than FMA: Brotherhood or the manga: "It's been a while since I killed anyone. I kinda miss it. Wanna watch?"—Edward Elric, FMA (original anime). Have a Happy New Year if I don't update by then._


	10. A While Since I Killed Anyone

_A/N: Yes, I am back, and I have updated! I'm sorry for the killer cliffhanger; hopefully, this will make up for it a little. Thanks to all of the reviewers, especially , who reviewed this one chapter three times, and Maya Sushi, who wrote a review longer than some of my one-shots. The second section of this chapter, in Ed's POV, is something I've been looking forward to writing for a while, so I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Also, this chapter's quote is the only one I plan to use from the original FMA anime, and I've been planning to use it for this specific chapter since I found it. That said, I hope you enjoy!_

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 9: A While Since I Killed Anyone

"**It's been a while since I killed anyone. I kinda miss it. Wanna watch?"- Edward Elric, FMA (original anime)**

A slow grin spread across Envy's face. This was child's play. Humans were such fools, to risk everything for others. And Pierce was a special kind of fool, to do it for someone he didn't even know.

Tomorrow, they would find him, covered in blood and screaming about the thing he'd created and the fact that Ed had told him to do it. The Fullmetal pipsqueak wouldn't be able to escape that unscathed, that much was certain. The Amestrians wouldn't be forced to leave, though. Mustang would see to that. For a pathetic human, he was a master of manipulation. He would make sure that he and his people were allowed to stay.

And as long as they were, Envy would be able to continue Father's plans for Korea. The 4077th was only the beginning, and Pierce was little more than a test run. And Mustang's people, whether the Flame Colonel knew it or not, were little more than pawns.

Pierce's hands were centimeters from the ground. Envy felt like laughing aloud. Then, the familiar sound of a certain midget's mismatched footsteps reached his ears. The smile twisted further. So Fullmetal thought he could stop him, did he? It would be fun to show him exactly how wrong he was.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"ENVY, YOU B-!" Ed screamed as leaped from the top of a nearby tent and plunged his transmuted automail blade into the homunculus's chest.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pierce scramble backwards, his foot disturbing the dust that made up the transmutation circle as he moved. Ed allowed himself a brief grin of satisfaction before he returned to his primary goal of killing Envy.

He'd been having some trouble sleeping, so he'd decided to take a walk. And what did he see on that walk? That…that…Ed didn't even have a word that described how angry he was at the homunculus…that disgusting creature trying to get Pierce, of all people to commit the taboo. Ed was not about to allow that to happen. Ed knew that stabbing Envy only once wouldn't kill him. But he was far past caring.

Envy, grinning widely, shifted out of Ed's form and back into his customary one as Ed's blade tore through his chest. He jumped backward, the wound closing in a flash of alchemy as Ed chased after him.

"WHAT THE H- DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Ed yelled, striking out all but blindly at the homunculus, who easily danced out of the path of his blade. He knew that his fury was destroying his aim. But he was far beyond the point where he could think about this rationally. He just wanted Envy dead.

"Maybe if you win, I'll tell you," Envy taunted, still moving backwards. He raised a finger to his lips and continued in a sing-song tone. "But quiet down! You'll wake everyone up, and they'll be an-gry!"

"SHUT UP, HOMONCULUS!" Ed screamed, his blade missing Envy's neck by mere inches.

The only reason he missed was that he was still so furious that he couldn't see straight. What the h- did Envy think he was doing? Getting some random soldier to commit the taboo was one thing, but trying to get Pierce to do it…in the time that Ed had known him, he had come to respect Pierce. Without realizing it, really, Ed had let Pierce become important to him. The list of people who Ed considered truly important to him was very short, and too many of those on it were in danger, injured, or dead because of their relationship to Ed. Ed was not about to let Pierce become another of those. The homunculi could do whatever they liked to Ed. He didn't care. But if they so much as touched the people that were important to him…Ed was going to kill Envy. He didn't care how many times he might have to kill him for Envy to stay dead. He was going to kill him.

"Oh, dear, you really will wake everyone up, Fullmetal pipsqueak," Envy said, a fake look of concern on his face.

"DON'T CALL ME THAT! AND I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THE H- UP!" Ed said, leaping at Envy and slicing through his arm. The wound healed instantly.

"I don't think you used such a dirty word last time," Envy said with a smirk, leaping backwards.

"I COULD USE ALL THE DIRTY WORDS I KNOW AND THEY STILL WOULDN'T COME CLOSE TO DESCRIBING YOU!" Ed fumed as he followed him.

"From you, I'll take that as a compliment," Envy returned. "Now stop attacking, or I'll be forced to fight back. And I was hoping to get some sleep tonight."

"LIKE I CARE WHAT YOU WERE HOPING FOR!" Ed yelled furiously, lashing out again at Envy and slicing his cheek open.

"My, my, aren't we persistent," Envy said, the amusement leaving his voice as his cheek repaired itself. "You're not leaving me much of a choice."

He kicked Ed in the stomach, then delivered a karate chop to Ed's automail shoulder with such force that he felt the blow in his collarbone and ribs, where the automail was bolted to his skeleton. If it had been his flesh arm, the shoulder blade would have broken. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

_Crap,_ Ed thought. _I wasn't ready for him. Teacher will kill me if she finds out I made such a stupid mistake._

Envy flicked a strand of hair over his shoulder and slid past Ed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some unfinished business to attend to," he said, heading toward Pierce.

"No!" Ed gasped. Envy had knocked the air out of his lungs, and maybe even broken some ribs, he wasn't sure. That didn't stop him from doing his best to get up and stop the homunculus.

"Don't!" he shouted, wincing at the pain in his abdomen as he struggled to his feet. Yep, that was a broken rib. "Pierce, get back to the Swamp, now! Envy tricked you! He lied! You can't bring back the dead, and if you try…!"

"That's about enough, Fullmetal."

Ed looked behind him. Mustang was standing behind him, his gloved hand raised and ready to snap.

"I'll take it from here," Mustang continued.

Suddenly, Breda, too, was behind him, lifting him up. "Can you walk?"

"Y-yeah, I think," Ed said slowly, getting to his feet. He looked around and saw the other members of Mustang's unit around him.

"The gang's all here, huh?" Envy said grumpily. He sighed heavily. "Guess I gotta retreat."

"Not so fast!" Mustang said, snapping his fingers. A jet of flame rushed toward Envy, who leapt backwards and out of sight. The flame ended up catching the tents on either side on fire.

Ed rolled his eyes. "Think before you set things on fire, will ya?"

Mustang had the decency to look embarrassed.

Fuery, meanwhile, threw a bucket of water at the fires, diffusing them.

"Where did you get-" Mustang started.

"I had the feeling we'd need water," Riza said, cutting him off.

"I'll fix the scorch marks," Ed said tiredly, clapping his hands and returning his hand-blade to its original form before clapping again and pressing his hands to one tent wall, then the other. He tried to ignore the background noise.

"Did you expect me to set a tent on fire?" Mustang demanded.

"Well, if I did, sir, it would appear I was right," Riza said evenly.

"That is no way to speak to a superior officer!" Mustang sputtered.

Falman snickered. "Even one who can't aim?"

Roy growled under his breath.

"Fuery, you owe me 10 cenz," Breda said. "We did need it."

"Fine," the bespectacled master sergeant sighed.

After fixing the tents, Ed walked toward Pierce, clutching his side. He tripped about halfway there, and nearly fell, but was surprised to feel a hand on his back, steadying him.

"You okay?" Mustang asked, as Ed felt his hand move from his back to his shoulder.

"Think I broke a rib. No big deal."

"You should head back to the tent."

"I have to talk to Pierce."

"You can't tell him what that was," Roy said, tightening his grip on Ed's shoulder. "The Americans can't know about alchemy. Come to think of it, how do we explain this?"

"We'll tell him this was a dream," Ed said, twisting out of his grip and turning to face him. "But I need to warn him somehow. Otherwise, Envy might get him to do it next time."

"Okay," Mustang said, his dark eyes serious. "But don't push yourself. You're injured. If you pass out and I end up dragging you back to the tent, you're doing my paperwork for a month."

"Fair enough," Ed said, heading toward Pierce.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Pierce looked up from the circle when he heard Ed shout, and then watched, wide-eyed, as Ed stabbed himself. Not like committing suicide, either. There were two Eds and one of them stabbed the other. Which he knew was not possible. Especially since the Ed who did the stabbing seemed to have a knife attached to his arm. Pierce scrambled backward, wondering if he was drunker than he thought or just crazy.

Then one of the Eds turned into a red-eyed, spiky-haired being wearing a headband, a tube top and a pair of really tiny shorts. And when he moved backwards and the knife-arm came out of him, the wound on his chest closed in a flash of blue light. The one who was still Ed was screaming at him, and really loudly, too. Pierce didn't even understand half the words. What the heck was a "homunculus," anyway? This was one weird dream, if it was one. Which it had to be. Things like this didn't happen in real life.

Ed charged the red-eyed thing and sliced at it with his knife-arm, but even when he hit it, the cuts healed instantly. Pierce did not have to be a doctor to know that that was impossible. Then, the one that wasn't Ed got a truly frightening look on his face. Pierce didn't even see him move, but suddenly, Ed was on his knees and gasping.

Then Mustang showed up, and the other Amestrians. They looked angry, but not particularly surprised. Which was weird, because it wasn't every day that one saw a not-Ed-thing that could change itself into Ed and heal from being stabbed. Or for that matter, a real-Ed with a knife where his arm ought to be.

Mustang was wearing a different pair of gloves. These had weird red designs on the back. The not-Ed-thing said something, and Mustang snapped. And fire appeared. The "Flame Colonel," huh? At least something in this crazy dream actually made sense.

Then the not-Ed-thing disappeared and some of the tents caught on fire, and Fuery dumped water on the flames. And then, Ed was walking toward him, holding his side and looking unsteady on his feet.

"Are you okay?" Pierce asked, letting his doctor side take over while the other parts of his brain tried to process what was going on.

"I'm fine, but I need to talk to you," Ed said, sitting down next to him.

Pierce watched as Ed inhaled slowly, then exhaled. He looked exhausted.

"What did En-I mean, that guy who was pretending to be me tell you?" Ed asked at length. He was staring at the ground.

"The kid who was missing organs died," Pierce said, the burden of his failure settling on him once again. "He said I could bring him back."

"He lied," Ed said, with such vehemence that Pierce flinched. "No one can bring back the dead. No one. No matter what method you use, and no matter how much you just want to see them again-" He broke off, his voice thick, and rubbed at his eyes.

"It's impossible," Ed continued. "Life only flows in one direction. And if you try to bring someone back, you're trying something forbidden, and there are consequences."

"Forbidden?" Pierce asked. "Consequences? What do you mean?"

"It's forbidden because life and death aren't things that humans can control," Ed answered. "I'm agnostic, but calling it 'within the realm of God' is the best way I can explain it. It's like that myth in your book…the one about Icarus? If you fly too close to the sun, you'll fall to Earth."

"But consequences…" Pierce said. "I mean, if I just tried it, just to see…" He stretched his hand toward the circle.

Ed caught his hand. His grip was surprisingly strong, and surprisingly cold. His hand was devoid of warmth, like ice or maybe metal.

"If you tried, you could pay with your life," Ed said. His tone was harsh, and his golden eyes were narrowed. "If you're lucky, you'll just end up short some limbs or missing internal organs. That circle is not something to be messed around with. If you activate it, you'll regret it as long as you live."

Pierce found himself somewhat frightened by Ed's gaze. Those eyes-they were full of anger and pain and regret. They were the eyes of someone who had seen much more than they'd ever wanted to and had forgotten none of it.

"I want you to promise me that you will never, and I mean never, touch a circle like that again," Ed said fiercely. "I don't care if Mustang or I or anyone else says you should. You have to promise me you won't."

Pinned by Ed's gaze, Pierce could only nod. "I-I promise," he said shakily. Wow, was he tired. It had to be past twelve. He should be either sleeping or in the OR, he was sure of it. He wasn't sure which one, though.

Ed's glare softened. "Don't worry, tomorrow you'll wake up in your tent and it'll be like none of this ever happened."

So he was supposed to be sleeping. _Well, that clears some things up,_ he thought, before falling asleep.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Once he was safely out of the Flame Colonel's range, Envy stopped to look back at the camp. Flame's fire was already out, which was a pity, since he'd have preferred it if all the stupid humans had gotten burned up by it. _Idiots_, he thought scornfully.

He'd hated having to back down, even if there was no point in fighting them at this point. He comforted himself with the thought that he'd get a chance to knock them all around a bit soon enough.

What a waste of time. Out of all of his siblings, of course he was the one that got sent to this godforsaken, middle-of-nowhere military base where no one even knew what alchemy was. Then again, even if he hated the place, he didn't mind the mission.

He'd failed twice now, though, which he was sure Father wouldn't like. The first one had been badly chosen, he'd admit that. But he was sure that the Mustang look-a-like could've done it.

_Pointless now, though,_ he thought. The Fullmetal pipsqueak had probably given him the human-transmutation-is-forbidden-for-a-reason speech, complete with automail exhibition and emotional outbursts, by now. Pierce was officially a lost cause. He could kill the pipsqueak for messing up his plans.

But, of course, if he succeeded, he'd be able to. _The half-metal brat should watch his back, _he thought, his lips twisting into a smile.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Ed, stop moving," Fuery said as he tried to wrap bandages around the irritable alchemist's midsection.

The Amestrians, along with the unconscious Pierce, had gathered in the tent where Fuery, Falman, and Breda were sleeping to bandage Ed up and figure out what to do next. Neither endeavor was going particularly well.

"Sorry, it just feels weird," Ed said. "I think the bandages here are made of different materials from the ones back home. Hey, can you hand me some? If I use alchemy on them, I can figure out their chemical composition…"

Fuery watched as his commanding officer rubbed his temples. He felt bad for the guy, he really did.

"Ed, you just broke a rib, you shouldn't be trying to do alchemy," Mustang said tiredly.

"I've done alchemy with broken ribs before," Ed said.

"That doesn't make it a good idea," Riza put in.

"Like I care," Ed snapped.

Fuery tied off the bandage around Ed's midsection. "I think there's another way to fasten bandages, but I can't remember it."

"Concentrate, Fuery," Mustang snapped.

"Sir!" Riza admonished.

Mustang took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I just don't like this. Ed's injured, we can't use alchemy, and we're up against a shapeshifter. I feel like an easy target."

"How's that different than usual?" Ed asked.

"Do you want your official title changed to "The Shrimp Alchemist," Fullmetal?" Mustang growled.

"You wouldn't!"

"Try me."

"That's enough, both of you," Riza said sharply.

Mustang's face betrayed his frustration for a moment. "All right, then. Breda, you and I will carry Pierce back to the Swamp. Falman, Fuery, go with Fullmetal and take care of the transmutation circle. After you're sure it's deactivated, I want you to take the materials in it and dispose of all of them individually, in separate locations around the camp. I'd also like you to check the area for any evidence of what happened tonight, and destroy said evidence if it exists. Lt. Col. Hawkeye, I'd like you stand guard outside of the Swamp tonight, in case Envy returns."

Each soldier nodded in turn.

Fuery watched as Breda and Mustang picked up the unconscious Pierce.

Ed, meanwhile, had finished putting his shirt back on and was heading out the door. "C'mon, let's get this over with," he said, motioning to Fuery and Falman.

Fuery followed reluctantly, wishing with everything that he had that he'd just listened to his mom and become a lawyer instead of joining the military.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Pierce woke up with a headache the size of New England. His head was full of weird images that he only remembered halfway and that didn't make any sense at all. He looked around, almost expecting to see the weird circle and the shadows of nearby tents. Instead, to his surprise, he found himself in his own bunk.

"Hey, you're up!" Trapper exclaimed.

Pierce winced and covered his ears. Either he had some sort of viral infection that mimicked hangovers, or he'd attempted to drink himself into oblivion last night.

As his memories of the previous night reappeared, he realized it was the second. Only, some of the things he remembered were a bit unbelievable. Maybe he'd been hallucinating?

On the other side of the tent, Ed looked up from a book. "Oh, hey, Pierce," he said. "How's the head?"

Pierce tried to get up, and winced when it felt like a railroad spike was going through his skull.

"That good, huh?" Ed laughed. "Maybe you shouldn't drink that much next time. I went to the latrines in the middle of the night and found you passed out near Rosie's. I had to wake up Mustang so he could help me get you back here."

"So it was a dream…" Pierce said. He was confused, though. He didn't remember drinking enough to make himself pass out.

"What was?" Ed asked, confused and wide-eyed.

"It was really strange…you were telling me how to bring someone back from the dead and then another you came and stabbed you with your arm…"

Ed raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you should lay off the alcohol for a while."

Roy walked into the tent and ran a hand through his hair, then looked over at Pierce. "The breakfasts here haven't gotten any better while you've been unconscious."

"Did you expect them to?" Pierce asked joking. He stared at Roy's hand, which was, unusually, ungloved. On the back of it was a scar, faded, but still pretty recent by its looks. And it looked familiar.

"Of course not, but a guy can dream, right?" Roy replied with a smirk.

That was when it clicked. It was faint, but the scar on Roy's hand looked like the symbol he'd had on his glove in the dream.

It was a coincidence, right? Pierce glanced at Ed, who was rubbing his side. The same side he'd been holding in the dream.

Pierce's eyes narrowed in suspicion. That dream was too strange to be real, right? But at the same time, he didn't remember it like a dream. He remembered it like it was real. There had to be some reason for that, some explanation. Something was up here, and he was going to figure out what it was.

_A/N: Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please review, even if it's just "I read this"; I like knowing that people are reading the fic. Thank you, by the way, to those of you who have been giving me nice, long reviews. I consider it a compliment to the fic that you spent that much time on reviewing it. Anyhow, next chapter will be a little calmer, for better or worse. Tentatively, this is the quote: "If we don't go crazy once in a while, we'll all go crazy." –Dr. Hawkeye Pierce, M*A*S*H._


	11. We'll All Go Crazy

_A/N: Here's the new chapter. This one's mostly the aftermath of the last one, and is perhaps a little fluffy. However, I found it rather enjoyable to write, so I hope you'll have fun reading it. By the way, a note on written Amestrian: I decided when I started this story that written Amestrian would be different from written English, in order to make it harder for Pierce to just pick up one of Ed's books and figure out everything from that. So, written Amestrian ends up looking a lot like Middle English in some of the spellings and capitalizations, with some of the "s"s printed as "f"s like in documents printed on printing presses in the late 1700s. It's not really related to Amestris's association with Germany, but it serves the purpose of making the writing difficult but not impossible to read, which is necessary. Okay, the explanation's over. Enjoy!_

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 10: We'll All Go Crazy

"**If we don't go crazy once in a while, we'll all go crazy." –Dr. Hawkeye Pierce, M*A*S*H.**

The morning found Father Mulcahy trying to figure out why his tent smelled like smoke.

He poked his head out of the door, and spotted Klinger walking past in a sea-green A-line strapless dress.

"Klinger, did you happen to see anyone smoking near my tent?" he asked.

"Nope," Klinger answered. "Hey, if you got some time, would you mind throwing up a prayer or two for us? Someone broke into the supply shed and stole a bunch of stuff. Hot Lips is on the warpath and it's all I can do to stay out of her way."

"What was stolen?" Father Mulcahy asked. If the thief showed up for confession, he wanted to be ready.

"That's the strange thing, Father," Klinger said. "It was all completely unconnected. A couple of containers of the ammonia we were using to clean the latrines are gone, but so is half of the salt the cook was supposed to use this month. Maybe half the water supply's missing, too, and the iron supplements Pierce ordered from Seoul last month. No one can figure out the connection."

"Maybe it was different thieves?" Mulcahy suggested.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, but Hot Lips is convinced it was all the same person," Klinger said. "And even if I do want to go home, I'm not stupid enough to start an argument with her and risk going there in a pine box."

"I understand," Mulcahy said. "But if you go around saying things like that, people might start thinking you're sane."

"Good point," Klinger said. "Can't have that, can I?"

Mulcahy just smiled. He didn't exactly approve of Klinger's methods, but he understood that everyone had their own ways of staying sane in the present madness. Even if Klinger's happened to be pretending to be crazy.

He waved as Klinger walked away, the hem of his gown kicking up a cloud of dust as he went. Then, sighing, he sat down on the edge of his bed and opened his bible to James.

After a few minutes, he heard a knock on the door.

"Come in," he said absently. He heard the door creak open, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps, and the thump of someone seating themself on the floor.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, looking up. He tried not to allow a note of surprise to enter his voice when he noticed that his guest was the young Amestrian major…Ed, he believed, was the boy's name.

"Don't get all excited," Ed grumbled. "I'm just in here because I need to be somewhere where Mustang isn't."

"Have you had an argument?" Mulcahy asked.

"Worse," Ed spat. "He's worried about me."

"Excuse me?"

"Look, the guy usually acts like he couldn't care less," Ed muttered. "But today, he keeps giving me these sideways looks like I'm gonna break or something. I can take care of myself! I've been doing it long enough."

"I see," Mulcahy said, although he didn't, really. He knew Ed didn't even care if he understood. The boy just needed someone to talk to. Mulcahy got the distinct feeling that he was filling in for whoever the boy usually confided in.

"I mean, come on, he's Colonel B-, since when does he have a heart? And why does he have to grow one now, of all times, when Al's not here? He's probably actually appreciate the idiot being concerned, but to me, it's just creepy."

Mulcahy blinked in surprise at the boy's nickname for his CO, but said nothing.

"D- Envy, this is all his fault…."

"Envy?" Mulcahy asked. "Like the Deadly Sin?"

It was Ed's turn to be confused. "Deadly Sin?"

"Oh, that's right, you said your country wasn't very religious," Mulcahy said. "In Catholicism, we call the sins that are most dangerous to ones' eternal soul—the most deadly, if you will—the 'Seven Deadly Sins' or 'Seven Cardinal Sins.'"

"Seven?" Ed asked, suddenly turning very pale. "Could you list them for me?"

"Of course," Mulcahy said, delighted that Ed was showing interest in religion, even if it was an odd place to start on. "There's Envy, as I said, and then Lust, Gluttony, Wrath, Greed, Sloth and Pride."

Ed stared at him, startlingly golden eyes wide. "D- it," he said softly. Then, he blinked. "Oh, um, sorry. I guess I shouldn't say that to a priest."

"I don't mind," Mulcahy said evenly. "Is there a reason you're so interested in the Sins?"

Ed was quiet for a few seconds. "Ah, what the h-. You're a priest, who're you going to tell, anyhow? There are a bunch of b-s in our country that are using your Deadly Sins as code names."

Mulcahy wasn't sure how he felt about the Deadly Sins being "his," but he was more concerned about other things Ed had said.

"Erm, what, exactly did these, erm, what did they do to deserve being called, um, that?" Mulcahy asked haltingly.

"Beat me up, killed one of Mustang's friends and injured another bad enough that he got discharged from the military, and, believe me, that's hard…." Ed trailed off pensively, then continued. "Tried to kill Mustang, too… actually, mostly they just killed people, lots of them. I really don't even know how many, but a lot."

"And they're using the Sins as names?" Mulcahy asked, trying to wrap his brain around what Ed had just said.

"I think so," Ed said thoughtfully. "I mean, I've only seen some of them, so I don't know if there's one for every sin. But if there is, that means there are more of them, which would suck."

Almost absently, Ed began counting on white-gloved fingers. "Let's see…there's Gluttony, but I haven't seen him in a while, and Greed, but the Fuhrer stuck four swords through him in Dublith, so he's probably dead…."

"Probably?" Mulcahy asked, feeling a little light-headed.

"And Lust, but Mustang burnt her to a crisp, and then Envy, who needs to die but hasn't yet, d- it! That leaves…um…."

"Pride, Wrath and Sloth," Mulcahey supplied as his lightheadedness increased. "Did you say 'burnt her to a crisp'?"

"Yep. That was after she tried to kill him and Havoc, though, so she sorta brought it on herself. Anyhow, Pride, Wrath, and Sloth…great, just great. Three more of them to deal with…Sloth doesn't sound like much trouble, but Wrath's got to be good in a fight."

The blond looked up from his fingers. "Well, this sucks. Thanks for telling me about it, though, Father. You're probably the least annoying priest I've ever met."

"Um, you're welcome?" Mulcahy said hesitantly.

"See you around!" the boy said cheerily, standing up slowly, one hand wrapped around his abdomen.

"Oh dear, are you alright?" Mulcahy asked.

"Ah, this is nothing," the boy said dismissively. "And Colonel Ba—I mean—Idiot made me take some sort of pain medication anyhow. Not that it really does anything for the pain—I've used too many pain meds for any of them to still work on me—but they make me kinda loopy so I don't notice it so much."

Mulcahy practically laughed out loud at himself. He was so gullible sometimes. Some kid comes in high on pain meds and feeds him some ridiculous story about people named Greed and Lust getting skewered and burned, and he actually bought it. His teachers in seminary had always said that a priest had to be able to laugh at himself. He just wished he would stop doing laughable things.

Someone else knocked at the door.

"Just a minute, please," Mulcahy said.

"Is Ed in there?" a voice asked.

"Breda," Ed grumbled.

"I heard that!" Breda said, opening the door. "The Colonel's been looking for you. Get moving, Shrimp."

"'M not a shrip!" Ed protested blearily. "And I just found out that there are more things like Envy! The priest told me all about it. He didn't even try to shoot me like Cornello! But anyway, there are seven of them, like the Deadly Sins in…what was it called?"

"Catholicism," Mulcahy supplied patiently.

"Yeah, that," Ed continued.

"Wow, Mustang went a little overboard with the pain meds, huh?" Breda asked. "Be serious, Ed, I doubt the priest knows any more about those guys than we do. How about we go over to the mess tent for the meeting and you go to sleep?"

"Can I curse once the priest isn't here?" Ed asked.

"Whatever," Breda said. "I taught you half the words you know, anyhow."

"I knew it was you!" Ed said. "I gotta tell Frank…" he continued absently.

"Goodbye," Mulcahey said as the two left.

It wasn't until later that Mulcahy realized a number of things. First, Ed had been acting completely normal, if a bit immature, at the beginning of their conversation, not like he was high on medication. Second, Ed had never actually mentioned what had happened to him, only that it was bad enough to warrant pain meds, and that he had "used too many" for them to actually work on him, which was, in and of itself, interesting. Third, that Breda had never denied the existence of Envy, he'd only expressed doubt that Mulcahy knew anything about him or his associates.

They hadn't covered any of this in seminary.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"What was that?" Breda asked once they were far enough from Mulcahy's tent.

"I just got some useful intel from the priest," Ed said. "But Mustang definitely gave me too much of that medicine, and I ended up saying more than I meant to. I acted a little "high" so that he'd think it was the medicine talking."

He rubbed his rib. It hurt, but it was a dull ache, and the medicine, was, if nothing else, messing with his brain enough that he couldn't focus on it…or anything else, really.

"So, what did you find out?" Breda asked.

"Seven?" Mustang exploded at the meeting. He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hand. "You sure you didn't just think you heard him say that?"

"Nah," Ed said calmly. "I just can't concentrate too well right now; I'm not hallucinating or anything. By the way, that is the last time you give me pain medicine."

"Look, we can't let Pierce know that what he saw last night actually happened, and explaining away a broken rib isn't easy," Mustang said. "Pierce is a doctor; it's his job to know when people are in pain. This isn't something as simple as hiding the fact that you're automail's bothering you from Al."

"But won't Pierce notice that I'm sorta…off…today?" Ed asked. "I sound weird even to me right now."

"I didn't realize that the pain medicine would make you so loopy," Mustang admitted.

"Y'know, that's in my personnel record," Ed pointed out. "You never read it, did you?"

"I did…a while ago…" Mustang protested weakly.

Riza's gun was out and pointed at him before anyone could blink.

"Sir, I believe it's time that we reviewed the personnel records, wouldn't you say?" she asked sweetly, her finger resting lightly on the trigger.

"Y-yes, of course," Roy said quickly.

He practically ran out of the tent, with Riza close behind him.

"I think the meeting's adjourned," Breda said.

"Seems like it," Falman agreed.

"I'm gonna go back to the tent and try to avoid Pierce," Ed grumbled. "I hate this. My attention span's shot, I can't even think straight and I'm pretty sure I'd blow our cover completely if Pierce actually asked me."

"Good luck, kid," Falman said.

"'M not a kid, or a shrimp," Ed said.

"I didn't call you a shrimp," Falman said.

"I know. That was Breda," Ed said.

"Ed, that was ten minutes ago!" Breda said.

"Oh…" Ed said slowly.

"Why don't you go sleep, Ed," Fuery suggested.

"Sounds like a plan," Ed said, leaving the mess tent.

From behind him, he heard Falman say, "I'm with Ed. The Colonel's not giving him pain medication again. This is sort of scary."

"I don't know," he heard Fuery say. "He's sorta cute like this."

If Ed hadn't been feeling incredibly drowsy, he would have gone back and killed Fuery for saying that.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

About an hour later, in the Swamp, Trapper stared at Pierce as he tried to absorb what his tentmate was telling him.

"I'm with the kid," he said slowly. "You really need to lay off the booze. That is one weird dream."

"I know," Pierce answered. "But it was so vivid! I never remember my dreams like that."

"Hawk, I hate to say it, but maybe you oughta talk to Sidney about this," Trapper said carefully.

"I'm not nuts!" Pierce protested loudly.

"I'm just saying, I think you're making too much out of a couple of coincidences," Trapper said.

"I know what I saw," Pierce said. "The scar on Mustang's hand is exactly the same as the design he had on his glove in his dream."

"Maybe you noticed it earlier and it ended up in your dream," Trapper suggested.

"It's more than that, though!" Pierce insisted. "In the dream, when he snapped his fingers, he made fire. And the design on his glove had a salamander on it, and triangles…I know those have something to do with fire..."

"Hawk…"

"The kid's books! That's it. Maybe there's something in them…."

"He's not gonna like that, Hawk."

"He's drugged up to his eyeballs," Pierce said, gesturing to the sleeping boy, who twitched in his sleep. "Mustang told me he gave him the wrong medicine for his headache…we'll be lucky if he wakes up this week."

"The kid's a genius. He'll figure out you looked at his books."

"He caught me looking at them before and didn't care. He said they were in code."

"Then how the heck do you expect to find out anything from them?"

"Humor me, Trapp."

"As if I could actually stop you from doing anything," Trapper grumbled.

Pierce smiled crookedly in reply as he approached Ed's suitcase.

"Okay, the recipe book isn't going to help…what's this?" He picked up an old-looking, cloth-bound book. "_Weapons of the Amestrian Military_? This looks promising."

He seated himself, Indian-style, on the floor next to the suitcase, and opened the tome carefully.

"Geez, what is this?" Pierce muttered to himself, squinting at the pages. "Their spelling is almost like Middle English…Okay, Trapp, listen to this: _This Hiftorie cannot be called 'complete' without the mention of a certain Weapon of the Amestrian Army whiche has eftablifhed its effectiveness in War, moste specifically the Ishballan Conflict. This is the Human Weapon, whiche we know by the Name of State Alchemist. By the drawing of Circles, they affume control of the Powers whiche course through the Earth and caufe Death and Defolation within the ranks of the Enemy."_

"What's that supposed to mean?" Trapper asked.

"Don't you get it?" Pierce asked. "'_By the drawing of Circles, they affume control of the Powers whiche course through the Earth,'_ just like the circle in my dream, and the one on Mustang's hand!"

"So you're saying that these people have figured out how to control some sort of natural force and use it to do magic tricks?" Trapper asked.

"I'm not saying it, but the book is," Pierce said.

"For all you know, that's some sort of gag book," Trapper argued.

"I've heard the Amestrians mention the Ishballan Conflict," Pierce stated. "They never joke about it."

"So the author's serious," Trapper said. "But how do you know what he means by _"controlling the Power that courfes through the Earth"_? Maybe it's some sort of indirect scientific reference or something cultural that an Amestrian would understand, but we wouldn't."

"Or maybe it's just what it seems like."

"Do you even hear yourself? You're suggesting not only that the Amestrians have some sort of weird supernatural ability, but also that they lied about having it and told you that you'd dreamt real events in order to cover it up."

"Well, if you had a way of making people into "_Human Weapons_" that "_caufe Death and Defolation within the ranks of the Enemy_", wouldn't you try to hide it from other countries?"

"Hawk, think about this! What you're suggesting is impossible."

"I know it is!" Pierce practically shouted. "But no matter how hard I try, I can't think of any other way to explain this. Trapp, something happened last night, I'm sure of it. I'm just having trouble with figuring out how to make it fit with reality."

"But none of what you're saying makes any sense!" Trapper burst out.

"I know it doesn't! I'm trying to figure it out!"

"Maybe you're just losing it!"

"Maybe I am! I don't even know anymore!" Pierce cried in frustration, throwing Ed's book back into his suitcase.

Neither of them noticed Mustang listening to their exchange from the doorway with a small smirk on his face.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

_A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Don't worry, the plot will continue to move forward slowly but surely. Thank you all for reading, and I hope you'll take the time to review. The next chapter is currently undergoing revision, but the tentative quote is: "I'm tired of this. It's like, just when I think our goal is within reach, it slips right through our fingers. It's happened time and again. Now, when we finally have it in our grasp, the truth slaps us in the face."—Ed Elric, FMA. See you next chapter!_


	12. Right Through Our Fingers

_A/N: I finally updated! Things have been a little crazy recently but I finally managed to get this edited. It's not my favorite chapter I've written, I'll admit that straight away. But I think you'll at least find it interesting. My apologies in advance for the scene with Riza and Margaret—I have trouble writing them, since Riza's so danged stoic and Margaret isn't my favorite character—but I hope you all enjoy the chapter anyway._

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 11: Right through Our Fingers

**"I'm tired of this. It's like, just when I think our goal is within reach, it slips right through our fingers. It's happened time and again. Now, when we finally have it in our grasp, the truth slaps us in the face."—Edward Elric, FMA.**

_I don't like that he was able to find out that much, but as long as he thinks he's losing it, our secret's safe,_ Roy thought, a smirk playing on his features. _It's amazing how far people will go to avoid anything that contradicts their beliefs about the world._

Turning away from the doorway, he decided to walk around for a bit. The last thing he wanted was to be forced to discuss Pierce's "dream" with him while it was still fresh in his mind. He didn't have Ed's excuse of being unconscious.

He freely admitted to himself that giving Ed that pain medicine had been a…lapse in judgment on his part. He hadn't realized what it did to him, and he also hadn't realized that making him loopy and tired was all it did. He supposed that it made sense that during the rehabilitation from his automail surgery, Ed would have taken a lot of pain pills, and he knew that taking a lot of pain pills eventually led to a person having a resistance to them, but, somehow, he'd never really connected the two.

He'd been tired enough to think it was a good idea, and Ed had been halfway passed out when he'd given him the pills—Breda had actually had to stand behind him to keep him from falling over.

If he was honest with himself, he'd just felt a bit guilty. After all, he was posted at a hospital, but he couldn't even get the kid proper medical care without giving the Americans classified information—as soon as the kid took his shirt off, the automail was no longer a secret. Also, Ed's injuries were evidence that Pierce had actually seen what he'd thought he'd seen. Fuery had done his best to bandage Ed up, but it wasn't anything near professional. Unless they did something, the rib was probably going to heal wrong.

To make up for it, he'd tried to actually be nice to the kid in the morning, but all he'd managed to do was scare him. Though, he guessed, Ed was used to their relationship being a certain way. It was a constant in his life, and Ed didn't have too many of those.

Roy cursed to himself. He was not any good at this. Al knew how to deal with Ed, Winry knew how to deal with Ed, but all Roy knew was how to manipulate him. Which certainly came in handy, but it wasn't the same.

He wasn't sure why he was trying, either. He was Roy Mustang, "Hero" of Ishbal, though he hardly thought that place had a hero, and Colonel in the Amestrian Army, for all that was worth anymore. He was not a nice person, he was a soldier. And he had no idea why he suddenly found himself being so concerned about Ed. No, not Ed, Fullmetal. He was only calling Fullmetal "Ed" for the mission. It was like a codename. It certainly didn't show any sort of closeness between them. It was just shorter than "Major Elric." And maybe if he repeated that enough, he'd actually believe it.

It was times like these when he missed Maes. Maes was a people person, the kind of guy that was so nice and so open that he just drew people to him. Even people like Ed, who tried their best to shut themselves off from everyone, opened up to him without even meaning to. As for Roy, he just made people close up tighter.

He sighed to himself. He'd found out about Rosie's Bar while he was trying to make up a story to feed Pierce. But after a day like this, he decided that further research was definitely in order.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

To say that Riza Hawkeye was discontent with the current state of affairs at the 4077th would be somewhat of an understatement. Her CO was heading toward a bar, which meant that it wouldn't be long before she'd have to go and drag his half-unconscious person back to camp. Aforementioned CO had, before deciding to go and get smashed, dosed the youngest State Alchemist in history and the closest thing they had to an expert on homunculi, with enough pain medicine to knock him out for the next twenty-four hours. The remainder of the personnel she worked with were currently playing poker, a habit they had picked up from the 4077th—at least before it had been chess, even if they had bet on it. And meanwhile, a near-immortal being with the ability to shapeshift was wandering the Korean front completely unchecked.

Currently, Riza was sitting on a crate outside of the Swamp, maintaining the illusion that she had simply decided to sit there because she was tired. Actually, she was still guarding the Swamp on the off chance that Envy might show up again. And she was getting tired of listening to Pierce and Trapper argue, so acting tired was not exactly a stretch.

"Would you like some company?"

Riza looked up to see Major Houlihan.

"Sure," she said gratefully. Anything to distract her from the danger she and her unit were in, and the fact that it was mostly Mustang's fault.

Margaret sat down beside her hesitantly. They were both silent for a long stretch.

"So…they allow women to become regular soldiers in Amestris?" Margaret asked.

Riza could tell this had been bothering her. "Yes, they do," she said. "We even have female generals. One of them is the commander of Briggs in the north. She's been keeping Drachma, our neighbor to the north, from starting any conflicts with us while also ruling the fort with an iron fist and gaining a reputation for being the toughest general, male or female, in the army."

"Really?" Margaret's expression was torn between shock and interest.

Riza smiled. "Actually, you're quite similar," she said. "The Colonel has never gotten along with her. I think that's why he's been avoiding you—you remind him of her."

"Why don't they get along?" Margaret asked. "Does he think that she shouldn't be so high-ranking?"

"It's the opposite, actually," Riza laughed. "General Armstrong believes that Colonel Mustang is far too weak and cowardly to hold his rank. Of course, she holds the same opinion of nearly the whole army besides her men."

"She sounds…interesting," Margaret said with a tentative laugh.

"She's an Armstrong," Riza said. "Being 'interesting' is a skill that has been handed down through the Armstrong family for generations."

"I see," Margaret said, though her expression suggested she did not.

"I'm sure one day your country's laws will allow women into the army," Riza said.

"What makes you think I want that?" Margaret said, a shocked expression appearing on her face. "Women don't fight…it's not regulation!"

"You would make an excellent commanding officer," Riza stated. "I've seen you with the nurses. Serving at a medical station is certainly useful, but your talent would be put to better use as an officer. If nothing else, you might be better at it than Colonel Mustang." The last part was said with a sigh.

"He seems like a good officer to me," Margaret offered.

"He is," Riza said. "I'm just frustrated. He's gone drinking again, Ed's out cold, and the rest of our people are playing poker. What if something were to happen?"

"He shouldn't be drinking when he's on duty," Margaret stated. "And why is Ed out cold?"

"The Colonel gave him pain medicine without knowing what sort of effects it has on him."

"And those effects are?"

"It doesn't actually help with the pain, it just makes him confused and drowsy."

"That's how he reacts to pain medicines? That's unusual." Riza could see the nurse in Margaret taking over.

"Would it be less unusual if he'd taken large amounts of pain medicine when he was fairly young?"

"Yes, that would change things…is that what happened?"

"He had fairly extensive surgery when he was twelve."

"Yes, that would explain it. Why did he need medicine now?"

"A headache, I think…the Colonel overreacted," Riza sighed, remembering Ed's cover story. "And Ed was too tired to argue with him."

"From what I've seen of Major Elric, he's never too tired to argue with anyone," Margaret said with a small laugh.

"Which just tells you how tired he was last night," Riza said, acknowledging the joke. She wasn't sure she liked Margaret, but she was good enough company.

"I'm jealous, actually," Margaret said, glancing toward the tent. "I wish I could be sleeping right now."

"If you'd rather go back to your tent and sleep than talk, you should go," Riza said quickly, hoping she wasn't boring her companion.

"Even if I wanted to sleep, I can't right now," Margaret said. "I'm waiting for Radar to dig up some requisition forms from a few months back so I can figure out exactly what we're missing."

"Missing?"

"Some of our supplies were stolen," Margaret explained. "It's not exactly unusual around here—we're targeted by the local black market every few months—but there's something about this one I don't like. The things that were taken don't fit the black market's normal thefts. In fact, a lot of it would be almost useless on the black market."

"Like what?" Riza asked, feeling a shiver rush up her spine.

"Water, salt, ammonia, iron supplements—" Margaret began.

Riza cursed, cutting her off. She recognized that list. Ed's habit of reciting the chemical composition of the human body when he needed to focus meant that she and the rest of the unit could either recite it as well, or at least recognize the elements involved.

"Major Houlihan, I would like to offer you the services of my unit in guarding your supply shed," Riza stated. "Actually, I would like to insist that you either accept our offer of help or increase your own guard."

"Lieutenant Colonel, what are you not telling me?" Margaret asked suspiciously.

"A number of things, all of them classified," Riza said flatly. "Now, would you like our assistance or not?"

"I'm sure the men would appreciate the help," Margaret said. "But shouldn't this be run past your Colonel?"

"Colonel Mustang will approve my decision as soon as he learns of it," Riza said confidently. "Besides," she added mischeviously, "he forfeited his right to argue when he decided to go drinking in the middle of the day."

"Fair enough," Margaret said.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"All right, I fold," Falman said mournfully, laying his cards on the table.

Breda looked triumphant, while Fuery just looked scared. Breda was not an easy opponent, and Fuery wasn't very good at poker to begin with. Falman almost felt sorry for him. But he was too angry about his own losses to dwell on that.

At that moment, Riza walked into the tent.

"Falman, Fuery, you are to report for guard duty immediately," Riza said. "I am assigning you to the supply tent. An unknown thief has recently removed a number of unusual items from the tent, and you two are going to prevent a repeat incident."

Falman heard the true meaning of her words: Envy had taken his 'ingredients' from the supply tent. "Ma'am," he said, saluting and heading for the tent.

Fuery, too, saluted, and followed Falman out, looking immensely relieved.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

In the days following his "dream", which he was beginning to doubt had been a dream at all, Pierce had started to watch his Amestrian tentmates more carefully.

The practice hadn't really yielded any useful information. He now knew that Ed was not the only one who had nightmares—Mustang seemed to have them as well, although his were less dramatic. Also, Ed was somewhat obsessed with the color red, and apparently missed wearing it, and Mustang really loved dogs. None of this was particularly useful to him.

After the day after the dream, during which Ed had taken entirely too much pain medicine and Mustang had made his first pilgrimage to Rosie's, the two of them had acted completely normally—well, for them, anyways.

He pondered all of this as he sat in his tent, doing yet another crossword puzzle and waiting for the next disaster.

"Hey, Hawkeye, they're waiting for you in the OR!" Radar shouted as he walked into the Swamp.

And there it was.

"What about me?" Frank asked, looking up from an outdated newspaper.

"Major Houlihan just asked for Hawkeye," Radar said.

"Hawkeye…but I finished all the paperwork…" Roy muttered, turning over in his sleep. He had slept in after pulling an all-nighter in an effort to finish some of his paperwork. It had worked, but he hadn't gone to bed until 9 a.m.

"Anything I can help with?" Ed called from his bunk. He had been helping out in the OR periodically since his first experience, and he appeared to have finished the books he'd brought with him. Pierce guessed he was bored.

"Come along if you want," Pierce offered.

"'Kay," Ed said, following him to the OR.

The patient was Korean, and somewhere in his thirties. His left leg was a mess, and Pierce guessed they would have to amputate it.

"He's a farmer," Father Mulcahey, who was acting as a translator, explained. "He was working in his field when he stepped on an unexploded mine. Do you think you can save the leg?"

"I doubt it," Pierce said. "Ed, you want to assist with this one?"

Ed blinked a few times, then asked, "Do you mind if I sit this one out?"

"No, of course not," Pierce said slowly, wondering why Ed looked so unsettled.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

When Roy woke up, it was brighter than it ought to have been. Then, he remembered the all-nighter and groaned. Then he looked around the tent and noticed the two empty beds. Of course the two people he was trying to protect from Envy had to disappear at the same time.

"Where are they?" he muttered.

"Pierce went to the OR and Ed went with him," Frank said, in a tone of undisguised jealousy. "Why do they always ask him to do these things? I'm twice the surgeon he is!"

Even Roy, whose medical knowledge was entirely limited to burns and spinal injuries, knew that wasn't true. Of course, Frank's surgical skill had nothing to do with him. Ed and Pierce, on the other hand…

He headed to the OR.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ed sat outside of the operating room and tried to tell himself that the fact that the man in the OR was currently getting the same leg that Ed had lost amputated was not bothering him at all. He was failing, of course, but at least he was making an effort.

He knew it shouldn't bother him. He'd seen so many amputations at Granny Pinako's, and even during the 43-hour-long surgery at the 4077th, that he shouldn't have minded at all. But this was different. At those times, things were so rushed. He was too busy trying to remember which instrument was which and attempting to get the bandages before Winry killed him to think about it.

Now, he had time to think, and his mind was going places he didn't want it to go to. Especially to the rehab after his automail surgery. The surgery was just a haze of pain. He barely remembered half of it. And besides, it was just pain. He'd hurt before, he'd hurt again, that time just happened to be a little longer and a lot worse. But the rehab he remembered perfectly, including the part before he could use his new leg properly. He'd never appreciated his freedom of movement until it was gone, and suddenly getting across a room was a nearly impossible task that was sure to involve falling at least once. He'd felt…helpless. And Edward Elric hated nothing, not even Hohenhiem or Envy, more than he hated feeling helpless.

Pierce and Margaret finally emerged from the OR and began shedding their scrubs.

"Seems like he'll pull through," Pierce said.

"Good," Ed offered weakly, too lost in his own thoughts to really register Pierce's words.

"I just wish they'd be a little more careful about where they leave mines," Pierce said. "He may have survived, but he'll have trouble farming with only one leg."

"I can't imagine," Margaret said softly, half to herself.

Ed's hands, one metal, one flesh, clenched at his sides, and he remembered the one thing he hated more than being helpless—being pitied, even indirectly.

He rushed out of the room before anyone could ask what was bothering him.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Roy, who had been listening from outside, was about ready to shout at the doctor and nurse for their mistake. The fact that they didn't know about Ed's missing limbs didn't justify their mistake…actually, it did. He rubbed his eyes and tried to wake up a little more.

He caught Ed's arm, the metal one, as he stormed out.

"They didn't mean anything by it," he said. There was no question of what he was referring to.

"Mind your own business," Ed said, trying to shake him off. Instead, Roy only tightened his grip. "Let go!"

"I am not going to let you go off somewhere and sulk," Roy stated. "That was what you were planning to do, wasn't it?"

"Leave me alone!" Ed snapped, telling Roy he'd hit the mark.

"Why don't you stop pretending you can handle everything by yourself and talk to me?" Roy asked.

"Why should I tell you anything?" Ed grumbled.

"Because Al isn't here and I am," Roy said. "You can't close up to the world just because your brother's not here."

"Watch me," Ed snapped.

"Ed…"

"Fine! I feel guilty, all right!"

"Guilty?" Roy asked, honestly confused.

"There's no automail here. That man will never be able to do the same things he used to. And he didn't even do anything wrong! He was just farming! I lost my arm and leg because I performed forbidden alchemy, and yet, I got automail, which is a heck of a lot better than any prosthetics he'll ever get."

"You don't even know if he'd want automail," Roy pointed out.

"It doesn't matter," Ed said. "It's just not fair that he doesn't have the choice."

"I'll give you that," Roy said. "But there's something else, isn't there?"

Ed stared at his boots. "Yeah…when they were talking about him, and how bad they felt for him, it made me wonder whether they'd treat me differently if they knew everything."

Roy waited for him to continue.

"I really like the people here, you know, and I'd hate it if they treated me…well…like that."

"Like what?" Roy asked. He already knew the answer, but Ed needed to say it out loud.

"Like they feel bad for me," Ed said quietly. "I would hate that."

"Ed, I don't think you need to worry about that," Mustang said. "I don't think they'd treat you differently. And even if they did, what would it matter? You know that even without your original body, you could still take any of them in a fight with your eyes closed."

"I guess you have a point," Ed said slowly.

"Of course I do," Roy said with a smirk.

"Dang it, do you always have to be so smug about everything?" Ed huffed. "Colonel Useless."

"Midget."

"DON'T CALL ME SO SHORT THAT I COULD FIT INSIDE OF AN AMOEBA!"

"I didn't say that, Ed."

"I DON'T CARE!"

_A/N: Nothing like going out on a good short rant! Don't worry, there should be some more action next chapter. Anyhow, I hope you'll all take the time to review, and thanks for reading! Next chapter: "You ever had one of those wars where everything goes wrong?" –Dr. Hawkeye Pierce._


	13. One of Those Wars

_A/N: Yes, I finally updated. Here's some of that action I've been promising. The pace should start to pick up from this point, so look forward to it! Enjoy._

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 12: One of Those Wars

"**You ever had one of those wars where everything goes wrong?" –Dr. Hawkeye Pierce, M*A*S*H.**

It was a beautiful day in Rush Valley. The sun shone brightly, and filtered through the window of Garfiel's automail repair shop.

Inside, Winry Rockbell balanced on a tall wooden stool, the handset of a phone tucked between her shoulder and cheek. Lazily, she spun the rotary dial on the phone until she'd dialed the number that Granny Pinako had given her for the Elric brothers.

She wanted to see them. She wanted to see them so she could hit both of them over the head with a wrench and then hug them as hard as she could. Did they have to make her worry so much?

She had no idea where they were, or what was happening to them. Were they safe, or in danger again? Had they made any progress in their research? Had Ed gotten hurt again? As she listened to the phone ring, she took a deep breath and steeled herself for what she might hear. Finally, she heard the "click" of someone picking up.

"Hello?" an older, female voice asked. Their teacher, Winry guessed. So that's where they were.

"It's Winry, Ed's mechanic," Winry said, suppressing a yawn. She was pulling way too many all-nighters these days. "He's due for a tune-up."

She listened to the woman for a few seconds before she exploded.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HE'S NOT THERE?"

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

On his way back to the Swamp after the amputation, Pierce thought he heard footsteps behind him. When he turned around, he was surprised to see Father Mulcahy.

"Can I talk to you?" Father Mulcahy asked.

"Sure, Father," Pierce said. "What is it?"

Mulcahy fidgeted a bit, and said, "Then again, maybe I shouldn't say anything…it wasn't technically a confession, but I don't really think he wanted me to say anything…but I'm really quite curious…"

"What are you talking about?" Pierce asked.

"Major Elric…Ed…he told me some very odd things a few days ago and I was wondering if perhaps you knew a bit more about them than I did…given, that was the day he took the pain medication, so I don't know how accurate they might have been…"

Pierce knew a chance when he saw one. Maybe something Ed had told Mulcahy would prove that his dream wasn't just a dream. Anyhow, it was worth a shot.

"How about we head back to your tent?" Pierce offered.

In Mulcahy's tent, Pierce sat down on a slightly rickety wooden chair while Mulcahy himself perched on the edge of his bed.

"So, what did Ed tell you?" Pierce asked.

"He mentioned an individual named Envy, and seemed very upset with him," Mulcahy said. "I mentioned the Seven Deadly Sins, and he asked about them, then implied that there was some sort of terrorist group in his country using them as codenames."

"…Wait, Envy," Pierce said. "That's what Ed called the other Ed!"

"The other Ed?" Mulcahy asked slowly.

"Never mind," Pierce said. "What else did he say?"

"Well, like I said, he mentioned terrorists that took their names from the Sins," Mulcahy continued. "He said that one of them had been stabbed with four swords, but implied that he might have survived that."

Pierce remembered not-Ed, or Envy, as he seemed to be called, healing instantly from being stabbed in the chest and decided that Mulcahy's information fit with what he knew.

"Then, he started acting quite out of it, although he hadn't seemed very disoriented before," Mulcahy said. "He was holding his torso like it hurt, but he said it was nothing. He told me that his CO had given him some sort of pain medicine, though he said that those didn't work on him anymore."

Pierce filed that factoid away for future examination. He wondered if it was connected to those injuries of Ed's that hurt in the rain…and then it hit him.

"His torso?" Pierce asked. "Mustang said he had a headache."

"Perhaps he also had a headache, but it did seem like his torso hurt as well…I'm not a doctor, but I'd guess his ribs."

"His ribs…" Pierce said slowly, recalling the part of his dream when not-Ed/Envy had kicked Ed in the chest.

"Pierce?"

"Sorry, I got distracted," Pierce apologized. "Did he say anything else?"

"He didn't, really," Mulcahy said, "but one of the Amestrians…Bread…maybe…"

"You mean Breda?" Pierce asked.

"Yes, him," Mulcahy said. "When Ed was talking about the terrorists named after Sins, which I had, at that point, thought to be a product of the medication, Breda didn't deny their existence. He just expressed doubt that I knew anything about them."

"So these people are real?" Pierce asked.

"It certainly seems that way," Mulcahy said.

"So it really wasn't a dream…" Pierce said.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing," Pierce said. "Just…um…be careful, okay?" he said, as he walked out the door, leaving behind a very confused Father Mulcahy. "I gotta talk to Trapper."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Meanwhile, a heated discussion was taking place in Henry's office.

"I just need you to sign this one form," Mustang insisted.

"Radar already told me that you promised to help Klinger," Henry said flatly.

"How does he know?" Mustang asked. "He wasn't there, and I never told him! Did Klinger?"

"Radar's good at picking up on things," Henry said. "That's how he got his nickname."

"He doesn't want to be here, and having a soldier in drag reflects badly on your command," Mustang said in exasperation. "Why don't you just send him home?"

"Because I don't give a rat's behind about whether he wants to be here or how I look because of him," Henry snapped. "I'm a civilian doctor, Mustang; I don't want to be here any more than he does. And I don't think he should get special treatment just because he's better at playing crazy than the rest of us."

Mustang looked at the wild strands of hair escaping from under Henry's fishing-lure-laden hat and asked, "Is he?"

Henry glared at him. "Very funny," he snapped. "Get out."

"But…!"

"I will sign anything you ask me to," Henry said, "except that."

"Can't I do anything to change your mind?" Mustang asked.

"Get me out of here, too," Henry muttered, "and then we'll talk."

Mustang sighed. He knew when to retreat.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Radar, ear pressed to the office door, smiled in triumph. "He didn't sign."

Fuery, Falman, and Breda all groaned, nearly at the same time.

"I told you he wouldn't do it," Radar said smugly. "Now pay up."

"That is the last time we bet on the Colonel," Breda grumbled.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Klinger's feet were killing him, and as soon as he got his food and sat down at one of the tables in the mess tent, he took off the canary-yellow high heels he'd been wearing, wincing as he did. He knew they hurt his feet, but they matched the skirt he was wearing perfectly….

"If it hurts so much, why do you wear those?" Ed, who was sitting at the next table, asked.

"Sometimes, you have to suffer for beauty," Klinger said.

"…Beauty, right," Ed said, rolling his eyes.

"You laugh now, but I'll be laughing when I finally get a Section 9 and get out of this place," Klinger shot back.

"Good luck with that," Ed said, taking a bite of whatever it was that was on his plate.

Pierce and Trapper sat down across from Klinger, but were so involved in whatever they were arguing about that they didn't even notice him. Which was a shame, since he was rather fond of the pillbox hat he had on today.

"Just let it go, Hawk!" Trapper said.

"I will not!" Hawkeye insisted. "Something is going on and I want to know what it is!"

"You're acting crazy!" Trapper complained.

"No, that's me," Klinger quipped, but neither of the doctors seemed to hear him.

"They've been like this all day," Radar said, sitting down next to him. "I wish they'd just agree to disagree or something."

"Tell me about it," Klinger said. "I haven't even been listening to them that long and it's already starting to annoy me."

Frank sat down on Klinger's other side. "I'm going to report the cook for giving that dog a steak. That's part of the men's rations; it shouldn't be going to a flea-bitten mutt like that."

"You mean the creepy dog that's been hanging around the supply tent?" Klinger asked. "Igor didn't give it the steak, the dog stole it. Igor went into the shed to get supplies and the dog followed him in and ran off with the meat before he could stop it."

"Maybe the dog's the one that stole all of those supplies," Radar suggested.

"Ha ha, good one," Klinger said.

"I'm serious!" Radar said. "He gives me the willies. And I keep feeling like he'd rather be biting me than the steak."

"Now, now, let's not be superstitious," Frank chided. "It is, after all, only a dog."

Klinger and Radar ignored him. It was what you did with Frank.

Meanwhile, Pierce and Trapper's argument was only getting worse.

"Look, I understand, you're bored, but you don't have to invent trouble just to have something to do with yourself!" Trapper growled.

"I didn't invent this, Trapp, it's happening!" Pierce shouted. "I need you to be with me on this!"

Klinger was, at this point, completely lost. He wondered what Pierce and Trapper were talking about, but then decided it didn't really matter. He just wished they'd shut up.

"I'm sorry I'm not delusional, Hawk," Trapper yelled back. "When something's actually going on, then, yeah, of course I'll be on your side. But right now you're just talking crazy, so kindly shove off!"

"You won't be saying that when I turn out to be right!" Pierce snapped.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot. You're the great Hawkeye Pierce; you're always right!" Trapper spat. "Did it ever occur to you that you might be a fallible human being like the rest of us?"

"I know I am! But I also know that something is going on, so why the h- won't you believe me?"

"Because you're wrong! And if you can't handle that, I don't know what to tell you! You're wrong sometimes, Hawk, just like everyone else. Stop acting like you know everything!"

Trapper yelled that last sentence loudly enough that most of the compound must have heard it, then stood up and walked out of the mess tent, leaving his tray behind.

"Do you think he'll come back for that?" Radar asked, eyeing the deserted food.

"Doubt it," Klinger said as he watched Pierce glare at his food like he was trying to set it aflame.

Radar looked around almost guiltily before helping himself to the abandoned tray.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Trapper whistled quietly to himself as he walked back to his tent after dinner. The whistling was not an expression of some sort of inner joy, but rather, it was a futile effort to fill up the silent darkness around him. Korea wasn't really that bad, other than the 'police action' and all the casualties, but it was kind of creepy at night.

He heard footsteps behind him, and startled, but when he turned around, it was only Mustang.

"I think Pierce was being a little hard on you," Mustang observed, falling into step next to him.

"What gave you that idea?" Trapper grumbled.

"He's too full of himself for his own good," Mustang continued.

"You got that right," Trapper agreed.

"Don't you just want to take him down a peg, sometimes?" Mustang suggested, a small smirk appearing on his face.

"Whaddya got in mind?" Trapper asked with a grin.

"You'll see," Mustang said.

"Geez, what's with the theatrics?" Trapper muttered, following the Amestrian.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Mustang's" lips curled into a smirk. He should have just targeted McIntyre from the beginning. He was actually kind of interesting, for a human, and yet so easy to manipulate.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Trapper stared at the scene before him, then turned to Mustang and raised an eyebrow.

"What is all this?" he asked.

"You said you wanted to show Pierce up," Mustang said with a grin that Trapper could only describe as vampiric. "This is how you're going to do it."

"With a pile of medical supplies?" Trapper asked.

"Look closer," Mustang said. "Do you see the design around them?"

"The chickenscratch, you mean?" Trapper asked bluntly. "What the heck does that have to do with anything?"

"That's a transmutation circle," Mustang said, annoyance in his voice. "You use it to change the forms of things."

"So in other words, it's a magic circle," Trapper stated. "What are we doing, putting some sort of voodoo curse on Hawkeye?"

"It's not…voodoo, whatever that is," Mustang said. "And it's not for cursing people. This circle is unique. Very few people have ever seen it. It is a circle for resurrecting the dead."

Trapper stared at him.

"For all of his surgical ability, Pierce has never brought anyone back from the dead," Mustang continued. "You will do the one thing that he has always wished he could do, but has never been able to. How's that for bringing him down a few pegs?" he finished with a cocky smirk.

Trapper stared at him for a few more moments, then burst out laughing.

"…That's your grand plan for knocking Pierce off his pedestal?" Trapper laughed, gasping for breath between words. "Getting me to use some 'magic circle' to bring someone back from the dead so that he'll be jealous? Ed was right. Colonel Idiot really is the perfect nickname for you!"

He continued to roar with laughter, not noticing as Mustang's eyes narrowed in anger.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

_I take it back! _Envy screamed inwardly. _Every single positive thing I ever said about this idiot; I take all of it back! I am going to kill him! Painfully! And slowly!_

Suddenly, the angry expression on his face disappeared, to be replaced by a frighteningly wide smile. _Actually, that isn't a bad idea._

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Trapper wiped tears out of his eyes as he continued to laugh. How stupid did Mustang think he was? Using circles to bring back the dead? Yeah, right.

He glanced over at Mustang, who was wearing an awfully big smile for someone who was being laughed at to this extent.

"Sorry you didn't like my plan," Mustang said lightly.

Trapper looked up, alarmed. Mustang's tone was different than usual—more cheerful, but not in a good way. He suddenly felt nervous.

"Let's see how you like my next one," Mustang said, his voice filled with menace.

Trapper backed up, wondering what the heck was going on. Maybe Amestris wasn't as friendly toward America as they claimed to be. The two of them were alone, in a back corner of the camp. He wondered if he was in danger.

Suddenly, Mustang was in front of him, so close that Trapper could smell the Amestrian's breath—which smelled horrible, like he'd been eating raw meat or something. One of Mustang's hands clutched the collar of Trapper's shirt. The other held a surgical knife, and was pressed against Trapper's neck.

"Now, how about we try this again," Mustang said. His tone was sweet, but his eyes were aflame with anger. "You will go over there, put your hands on the ground in front of the circle, and CONCENTRATE or I will REMOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOUR INTERNAL ORGANS, ONE BY ONE! Now, do we have a deal?"

Trapper started to nod, then remembered the knife at his neck and said, very carefully, "Yes."

Mustang tugged on Trapper's collar, pulling him closer until the knife bit into his neck and he felt warm blood flowing down his neck. It wasn't deep enough to kill him, but it was a warning.

"Good," Mustang said, letting go of his collar.

Trapper's legs gave out under him, and he collapsed, the impact of his knees on the ground raising a small cloud of dirt.

"Get up," Mustang ordered, throwing the knife up in the air and catching it. Trapper thought about going for it, but he didn't think this was the best time to test his reflexes against a colonel in the regular army's. Also, he didn't know if Mustang had another weapon or not, and he didn't really want to find out the hard way.

So he pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the ridiculous little circle. He had no idea why Mustang was so preoccupied with the danged thing. He didn't actually think it could bring back the dead, did he?

"Now get on your knees and put your hands on the ground," Mustang told him.

"Why?"

"Because you don't want to die."

Trapper thought that was a pretty good reason. He placed his palms side by side on the ground in front of the circle. He blinked. Had he just felt a spark? He stared as blue sparks began appearing around the circle.

"Now concentrate, you idiot!" Mustang snapped.

"On what?"

"On—" Mustang started. He was interrupted by the sound of a bullet. Trapper turned around in surprise to see red soaking through Mustang's uniform.

"Captain McIntyre!" came a shout.

Lt. Col. Riza Hawkeye was only feet away from them, her pistol aimed directly at Mustang's chest.

She fired again, this bullet catching his left leg and forcing him to one knee. She fired at the other leg, then aimed at his head.

"Get away from him!" she shouted. "Now!"

Trapper got up as quickly as he could, and ran toward her with all the speed he could manage.

The sound of another bullet split the night as he made it to her. He looked back briefly and saw Mustang sprawled on the ground, bleeding from his head.

The blonde Amestrian looked him over. "Your neck?" she asked.

"It's not deep," he said. "I'm fine."

"Good," she said. "Now we need to get out of here, before he wakes up."

She started running, and Trapper followed.

"What do you mean 'wakes up'?" he asked as they ran. "You shot him in the head; people don't wake up from that!"

"No, people do not," Riza agreed. "That, however, was not a person."

"How can you be so cold?" Trapper asked. "You just shot your CO, and now you're talking about him like he wasn't even human."

"I did not shoot Colonel Mustang," Riza replied cooly. "That was not him, it was an impostor, and it most certainly was not human."

"What?" Trapper asked.

"I'll answer all your questions later," she said. "But first we have to survive this."

"Survive what?" Trapper asked.

His question was answered when he saw the imposter, still in its blood-spattered uniform, practically flying toward him with the knife.

Then Ed was in front of him, blocking the knife with…his arm? Trapper had no idea how that was even possible. Then again, he didn't quite understand how the imposter was still alive in the first place, so he decided to just focus on living through this for the moment. If he was still alive, he'd have plenty of time for questions later on.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ed allowed himself a slightly feral grin.

"Interfering again, runt?" Envy asked, leaping backwards and throwing the knife at Ed.

"DON'T CALL ME SHORT!" Ed shouted back, catching the knife in his automail hand. "Besides, I think I owe you for earlier."

"Oh, those little injuries?" Envy asked innocently as Ed launched into a spinning kick aimed at his head. "We both know I can do much worse."

"Shut up and fight!" Ed snapped, grunting in frustration as Envy ducked his kick and grabbed his leg with both hands. He swore to himself as he realized it was his flesh leg, which Envy could easily break. Taking a deep breath, he launched himself forward, sending himself and Envy into a roll. The moment Envy's back hit the ground, he let go, just for a second, in surprise, and Ed jumped backwards and out of his reach. He skidded a stop right in front of Riza and Trapper.

"What's the matter?" Envy asked, flicking his—well, Mustang's, really—bangs out of his eyes. "Can't fight me with this face?"

Ed smirked. "Actually, that face just makes me want to mess you up even more." He turned to the pair behind him, and dropped the knife into Trapper's hand, making sure the movement was quick so that Trapper didn't notice the metal beneath his shredded glove and uniform sleeve. "I'm pretty sure he stole this," he said. "You should probably put it back before the head nurse has an aneurism."

Trapper looked thoughtful for a second. "Couldn't I wait until after the aneurism?"

"No," Riza said flatly.

"Well, you're no fun," Trapper said grouchily.

"Get out of here!" Ed said.

"…But—" Riza began.

"If Colonel B- wants me to have backup he can come himself," Ed said. "I need you to get him somewhere safe."

"Right," Riza said.

Ed watched them go before turning back to Envy.

"I want answers, homunculus," he spat. "What are you planning?"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

_A/N: A bit of a cliffie, there. Sorry 'bout that. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and that if you did, you'll take time to review. The next chapter should explain some things about what Envy is up to. Not everything, of course, but it should help. Anyhow, the next chapter's quote is, tentatively, "Listen to me well, boy... Don't ever forget this. Always remember we allowed you to live."—Lust, FMA._


	14. Don't Ever Forget This

_A/N: I'm sorry for the update lag. Some of you may be familiar with the Plot Bunny of Doom. For those of you that are unfamiliar with it, it's also known as a Gundam Seed Destiny fic—6 chapters long—that pretty much wrote itself and stole my inspiration for everything else completely. So I blame Shinn Asuka for the lateness of this update. But last night miladyRanger, some other friends, and I watched FMA until about 11:30 p.m. and it brought back my inspiration, so enjoy! _

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 13: Don't Ever Forget This

"**Listen to me well, boy... Don't ever forget this. Always remember we allowed you to live."—Lust, FMA.**

In the Swamp Pierce glowered at the medical book in his hands. Trapper was such an idiot sometimes…

Frank was on his weekly field trip to Margaret's tent, so at least he had one less person to annoy him. Mustang was still in the tent, though. He appeared to be playing with a lighter one of the enlisted men had loaned him.

It was actually quiet in the Swamp, a paradox that practically begged the universe to remedy it. The universe obliged when the door of the Swamp slammed open.

Mustang was on his feet immediately. "What the h-?" he demanded, as a very disheveled-looking Riza Hawkeye ran in, with Trapper on her heels.

Trapper blinked, then stared at Mustang. "So it really wasn't you…" he said slowly.

Pierce took a closer look at his friend.

"Trapp, what happened to your neck?" he demanded.

"I just got nicked," Trapper said absently.

"Well, you're bleeding a lot," Pierce said. "I'll bandage it."

"I can bandage it myself," Trapper huffed.

"Now is not the time…!" Riza began.

"Lieutenant Colonel, explain!" Mustang said sharply. "What the h- is going on?"

"The enemy approached Captain McIntyre and attempted to convince him to commit the taboo," Riza said briskly. "He was unsuccessful and threatened Captain McIntyre with physical harm if he did not comply. I intervened, put about five bullets into him and got McIntrye out of the area."

"And where is he now?" Mustang demanded.

"Full—Major Elric is engaging him now, sir," Riza reported.

"And why are you not backing him up?" Mustang asked.

"Removing McIntyre from the area was the priority, sir," Riza said.

Mustang nodded, then said, "Stay here. I'm going to back Ed up."

"With all due respect, sir, no," Riza said. "Envy is too dangerous."

"Envy?" Pierce asked. "Then my dream…"

"Was not actually a dream at all," Mustang finished for him. "We were trying to protect our country's secrets and keep you safe. It appears, however, that both of those efforts were in vain. You are both involved now, and you're both in a lot of danger."

"…Is there anything we can do to help?" Trapper asked hesitantly.

"Get some bandages on your neck," Mustang said. "And come up with some excuse for what happened that doesn't involve the truth."

"Right," Trapper said.

Pierce rummaged under his bed and pulled out a first-aid kit. "Truce?" he asked.

"Truce," Trapper confirmed, getting out a gauze pad.

The door of the Swamp suddenly flew open once again. This time, however, it was Edward, and he did not run in so much as he fell backwards through the doorway.

He was covered in dirt and developing bruises, and his hair was halfway out of its customary braid. His uniform was in shreds, and Pierce thought he saw metal through one of the rips. That couldn't be right, of course, but it didn't change the fact that it looked as though Ed was losing.

He picked himself up slowly, wincing as he got up, and charged back out the door.

Without a word, all of the tent's occupants followed.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

While Riza and Trapper were heading for the Swamp, Ed was busy trying to get some information, or maybe just some blood, out of Envy.

"What the heck do you think you're doing here?" Ed demanded, transmuting his arm into a blade.

Envy ran at him, a wicked smile on his face. His arm, too, had taken the form of a blade. Ed twisted out of his path, swinging his own blade at the homunculus and cutting his upper arm.

The wound disappeared in a flurry of blue sparks. "Wouldn't you like to know," Envy sneered, leaping backwards.

Ed followed, blade first, and managed to stab Envy in the chest and pin him to the ground.

"Talk, homunculus!" he growled.

"I don't think so," Envy said in a sing-song tone, kicking Ed off of him. Ed launched into a roll as soon as he landed, eventually skidding to a halt in a place that he recognized as being near the Swamp. He cursed to himself. He had to get Envy away from Trapper.

Envy, meanwhile, was running toward him once again. The homunculus punched him in the gut with enough force to rupture internal organs, though Ed hoped he hadn't, then ducked to avoid Ed's blade.

Envy aimed his blade at Ed, and Ed blocked it with his automail arm. But even with him bracing his metal arm with his flesh one, Envy was too strong, and he was pushed backwards. He tried to dig his automail leg into the ground to anchor him, but stopped when he heard a sound that was ominously close to the sound of metal breaking.

"Mind your own business, shrimp," Envy said, kicking Ed in the stomach.

Ed rolled backwards, feeling his back slam into something before he finally rolled to a stop, inside of the Swamp.

Sighing, he got up, dusted himself off, and ran at Envy again.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Trapper ran out into the night air and watched as his fifteen-year-old tent-mate fought with an exact copy of the man standing beside him.

"You're the actual you, right?" Pierce asked Mustang, looking from him to the person Ed was fighting.

"The other one got up after Riza shot him multiple times, so I think it's safe to say he's Envy, which makes me the actual me, by default," Roy stated.

"Is getting up after he gets shot something this guy does normally?" Pierce asked skeptically.

"You saw him get stabbed," Roy said. "Things like him are almost impossible to kill."

"You said 'almost'," Pierce observed. "Does that mean you've actually killed one?"

"Yes," Mustang said, his eyes narrowing. "But I had to set her on fire repeatedly until she stopped regenerating."

"Her?" Trapper asked, surprised.

Just then, Envy launched himself at Ed, but instead of kicking him again, he sped past him and toward Trapper and the others, a maniacal grin on his face.

Ed cursed and leapt toward them, clapping his hands in midair, which Trapper personally didn't think would help the situation much.

He landed, hard, and slammed his open palms onto the ground. Suddenly, blue lightning was pulsing across the ground as it rose into a wall.

Trapper gaped. The kid had just turned the ground into a wall! By clapping his hands! What kind of researcher did that?

"You'd better put that back," Roy told Ed, as if all of this was routine. Which, for all Trapper knew, it was.

"Don't worry, I will," Ed said grouchily.

Envy crashed through the wall, still grinning, and walked towards them. Blue sparks surged around him, lengthening his hair, turning his military uniform into a black tube top and shorts, and etching a circular tattoo on his thigh, until the person in front of them didn't even resemble Mustang at all.

"I figured I'd kill you wearing a face nicer than Mustang's," Envy said in a voice that was almost a hiss. "After all, the doctors aren't potential human sacrifices anymore, so there's no reason to let them live."

"What?" Trapper asked. "Human sacrifices?"

"Don't get all worked up over it," Envy said casually. "You're going to die now, anyway, so it's not really important."

"Like h-!" Ed said, charging him again.

"You two, get back inside, now!" Riza ordered.

"We just want to know what the h- is going on!" Trapper protested.

"I said it once and I'll say it again, I'll answer all your questions if we survive this!" Riza snapped. "Now go before I decide to shoot you instead of Envy!"

Mustang blinked as the doctors ran back into the tent. "I thought I was the only one you threatened with your gun."

"Don't think so highly of yourself, sir," Riza said curtly.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ed winced as Envy's foot connected with his injured ribs. "Get out of my way, shrimp!" Envy growled.

Ed wanted nothing more than to chew Envy out for calling him short, but he gritted his teeth and focused on the fight.

"Tell me what you meant when you said Trapper and Pierce weren't potential human sacrifices "anymore"?" Ed demanded, stabbing the homunculus in the stomach with his arm blade. "Is that why you wanted them to commit the taboo?"

Envy coughed up some blood, then laughed, sparks dancing around his midsection. "You sure have a big brain for a shrimp," he said in a sing-song as he turned his own arm into a blade and aimed for Ed.

Ed stepped to the side, and but the blade still caught his cheek. Enraged, he swung at Envy's face. "WHO ARE YOU CALLING A SHRIMP WHO'S SO TINY YOU CAN'T SEE HIM IF YOU DON'T HAVE A MAGNIFYING …wait, that's actually what you're doing?" Ed trailed off.

"I might as well tell you, since you're not going to be going home and telling the tin can, anyway," Envy said cheerily, ducking beneath Ed's swing and then kicking his leg out in a wide arc aimed at the alchemist's legs.

Ed flipped backwards, but not before Envy's kick caught his automail leg with enough force to produce an audible clang. Ed thought he heard something rattling around inside of it, which was not a good sign. If he broke this leg, Winry really would kill him. "What do you mean, I'm not going home?" Ed asked as he landed, then launched into another flip, legs first, kicking Envy in the face in the process.

Envy got up quickly, and leaped backwards as Ed lashed out with his arm blade. "Y'know how Central Command didn't give you a Stone or tell you how to use the Gate to get back?" Envy asked with a sneer. "That was on purpose."

"What are you talking about?" Ed demanded, his golden eyes narrowing into slits as he tried to cut the homunculus.

"You and Mustang may be human sacrifices, but you've been making an awful lot of trouble for us," Envy cackled, grabbing Ed's automail arm, blade and all, and using it to fling him backwards into something wooden—a building, most likely, though it was difficult to tell. Ed couldn't see well enough to identify it, but at least it didn't sound like anyone had been inside.

As Ed struggled to get out of the pile of wood that seemed to have fallen on him, Envy continued.

"We figured we'd let you stay here until we needed you, and if we don't, well…" he gloated.

Ed's stomach dropped. They were trapped here? He felt himself start to panic. _No, _he told himself. _He's just trying to throw me off. I have to focus!_

Finally, he got back on his feet, and tried in vain to brush some of the splinters off of his clothes before he charged the homunculus once again.

"What does any of this have to do with Trapper and Pierce?" Ed demanded. "If all you wanted to do was get rid of us, why did you come too?" He aimed his blade at Envy once again, an evil smirk appearing on his face. "Did the others get tired of you?"

An expression of genuine anger appeared on Envy's face, just for a second, as he dodged Ed's lunge. Then, it was replaced by his customary mocking smile. "No, I'm here to find your replacements."

"Our replacements?" Ed asked, wincing as Envy's knee impacted his ribs, probably fracturing more and sending him rolling backwards, again. He felt a pain on his forehead as it hit the ground, and when he caught himself, he realized that annoying scar on his forehead from his fight with Slicer had reopened again.

He tried to blink the blood out of his eye as he ran at Envy once more.

Envy leapt to the side. "You see," he explained, "we decided we needed some more…complacent human sacrifices. Ones that wouldn't interfere with our plans."

"So you decided to come here?" Ed asked, ducking to avoid another of Envy's kicks.

"Some of the people here showed potential," Envy said, running at Ed with his arm in the form of a blade. "I'm just here to bring it out."

Ed ran at him with his own blade, which Envy blocked. "Who are you going after next?" Ed asked in a voice that was practically a snarl.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Envy chirped, flashing Ed a vindictive smile.

Envy pulled his blade backwards, then moved forward and cut Ed's upper arm as Ed stabbed him in the chest again. "You fell for it," he crowed.

Ed stumbled backwards, clutching his stinging arm, as Envy moved toward him. Then, a gunshot sounded, followed by two more.

Envy moved backwards, wide-eyed, as sparks danced around a triangle of wounds in his chest.

"Back off," Ed heard Riza's voice say. He turned around in surprise to see her and Mustang standing only a few feet away, in the shadow of a nearby tent.

"You could've helped out a little earlier," Ed grumbled.

"You were doing pretty well on your own," Mustang said with a smirk.

"And the Fullmetal Pipsqueak and I were having so much fun," Envy sneered. "Hmm…three against one? Seems fair."

Mustang snapped his fingers and a column of flames engulfed Envy.

"Was that fair enough for you?" Mustang asked, his expression completely neutral.

"This isn't over!" Envy shouted from within the flames.

"For tonight, it is," Mustang said scornfully, turning to walk toward the Swamp.

Ed glared at Envy for a little while before following the colonel.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Breda scowled and took a bite of chicken. Riza had finally relieved him from warehouse-guarding duty only minutes ago, and he was hungry.

Across from him, Falman and Fuery, who had finished some time ago, were passing time by placing bets on how soon Ed would have his next short rant. He didn't resent them, not really. Or that's what he kept telling himself.

"Breda, Fuery, Falman," Mustang's voice called, cutting through the noise of the mess tent. "Come here, now."

Breda reluctantly put down his fork and turned to look at his commanding officer. "Sir?" he asked, surprised, as he noticed the red array on his glove. He wouldn't be wearing that unless…. "What's going—"

"Now," Mustang repeated flatly.

Breda got up and followed him out, the other two trailing close behind him.

"What happened?" Breda asked as soon as they were far enough from the tent not to be overheard.

"Trapper was targeted," Mustang said briskly. "Ed sustained serious injuries in his fight with Envy, and we have another transmutation circle to take care of. Also, we were forced to use alchemy in front of the doctors."

Breda swore. "You want us to take apart the circle again?"

Mustang nodded. "Be careful not to activate it, and as soon as you remove the materials from it, erase it. When you're done, report back to me. I'll be in the Swamp."

"Sir!" Breda said, saluting. Falman and Fuery followed suit.

The corner of Mustang's lip quirked upward. "Oh, and if you smell smoke, it's probably Envy. I was a bit more…accurate than last time."

Breda swore to himself. He had a feeling he wasn't going to get to eat tonight.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Frank muttered angrily to himself under his breath as he headed out of the mess tent and toward the latrines. Stupid Amestrians… Frank was sure that was why Margaret had kicked him out. Why else would she? He'd just commented that her uniform made her look a bit bloated…it was hardly something to get upset about.

He arrived at the latrines and was about to open the door when he realized it wasn't there. He gaped as the moonlight illuminated the pile of wreckage where the latrines were supposed to be.

"Those…those…rats!" he spat, turning on his heel and running toward the Swamp. He had no idea what had happened to the latrines, but he knew, somehow, those two were involved.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

As they neared the tent, Ed sighed, and then got to work.

A simple clap of his hands was enough to transmute the wall he'd created back into the ground. Another clap, and the blade was gone from his automail. A third restored his glove to its original state, and a fourth knit together some of the more noticeable holes in his uniform.

The blood loss was making him a little dizzy. The prospect of trying to explain alchemy to two people who knew almost nothing about it was making his head hurt. And as for what Envy had said, about the possibility that he might not return home—he was just trying not to think about it.

He was not looking forward to this explanation.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

_A/N: Thank you for reading! This one turned out shorter, but I'm hoping the action will make up for it. I'm hoping to get some serious writing done this weekend but we'll see what happens…I haven't got a quote for the next chapter because the timeline is currently in flux—I know what's going to happen, but not necessarily in what order. I can definitely promise you Pierce and Trapper learning more about alchemy, and Ed getting bandaged up, but that's about it. I hope you'll take the time to review!_


	15. A Constant State of Utter Confusion

_A/N: I updated! Yay! Sorry for the wait—I lost my flash drive after I had about half of this chapter done and had to redo it. Oh, by the way, I posted new fanart for this fic—the links to it are on my profile. Please check them out! _

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 14: A State of Utter Confusion

**Nobody can get the truth out of me because even I don't know what it is. I keep myself in a constant state of utter confusion. - Col. Flagg**

Pierce and Trapper sat on the edges of their respective beds, a worried silence filling the tent. The gauze pad taped over the cut on Trapper's neck slowly turned reddish-pink as they waited anxiously for the others to return.

Pierce wondered what he thought he was doing. He was a grown man and he was hiding in a tent while a fifteen-year-old threw punches at a seemingly-unkillable shape-shifter. Something was wrong with this picture. Even if Ed had just put half of the action movies Pierce had watched in his lifetime to shame, he was still a kid. And besides, the fact that the kid was that good in a fight troubled him. A researcher wouldn't usually get in enough fights to develop that kind of skill.

The sound of the door's hinge squealing in protest as it swung open broke Pierce's reverie and startled him to his feet.

Pierce stared as Ed dragged himself through the door. The boy didn't walk into the Swamp, he staggered, his hand resting on his thigh as if to steady his leg. His uniform was dirty and ripped-up, and he was bleeding heavily from a cut on his forehead, and another on his arm. The hand that wasn't on his leg was wrapped gently around his ribs.

Pierce's medical training took over immediately as he ran over to the short blond and started to examine his injuries. As he moved to lift up Ed's bangs to get a better look at the cut on his forehead, the boy swatted his hand away.

"Calm down, why don't you," Ed snapped. "I'm fine. I've had worse."

Pierce ignored him. "Sit down so I can get some bandages on you."

"I'm fine," Ed repeated, scowling as he sat down on his bed.

"You're covered in blood!" Pierce argued, as he got some disinfectant out of the kit, dipped a gauze pad in it, and began dabbing at Ed's forehead.

"Isn't the first time, won't be the last," Ed snapped, wincing as the gauze touched the cut.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Pierce asked.

"I am in the military, you know."

"You're a researcher. Unless your research involves blood, I don't see why—"

"I would've thought that you'd realize that I was lying about that," Ed interrupted. "I'm a State Alchemist."

"Wait, like that book?" Pierce asked, a moment before his brain caught up with his words.

Ed's eyes narrowed. "What the h- did you think you were doing, looking at my books without permission?"

"I have to agree with Ed," Mustang spoke up, causing Pierce to glance behind him and see the Amestrian walk into the Swamp. "Some of the information in those books is fairly sensitive in nature. You were putting yourself in danger just by looking at them."

"Where's Hawkeye?" Ed asked.

"Right here," Pierce said, worried. "How hard did you hit your head?"

"Not you, the lieutenant!" Ed snapped.

"She's outside, keeping watch," Mustang said. "I wasn't able to kill Envy—it would be impossible to do so without attracting more attention than we can afford—so there's always the chance that he could come after you two again."

"Shouldn't you be keeping watch yourself?" Trapper asked.

Pierce was wondering the same thing. After getting to know Mustang, Pierce had learned that Mustang was the kind of officer who never asked his subordinates to do anything if he could do it himself, with the exception of paperwork. That, he usually pushed off onto the first person he could. He'd even tried to get Pierce to do it a few times.

"The lieutenant said she preferred watch duty to explaining what just happened," Mustang said.

"I'm with her," Ed said, trying to get up. "See you!"

"Ed, at least let me bandage—" Pierce started as Ed's leg wobbled dangerously, causing him to collapse back onto the bed.

Ed swore.

"Ed, was that the leg I think it was?" Mustang asked quietly.

Ed was silent.

"Couldn't you have been a little more careful?" Mustang demanded.

"Shut up, I'm going to get that enough from Winry—" Ed broke off.

"Winry?" Pierce asked.

"My mechanic," Ed said absently.

"Your what now?" Trapper asked.

"…A childhood friend," Ed said quickly.

"Hey, Trapp, can I have the first aid kit?" Pierce asked.

"I told you, I'm fine!" Ed snapped as Trapper passed Pierce the medical kit.

"You lost a lot of blood," Pierce said flatly. "Either you let me do this or I find Frank and ask him to."

Ed went pale as Pierce smirked. As soon as the Amestrians got home, Frank's reputation as an incompetent surgeon would be international.

"Fine," Ed muttered. Pierce swore he could actually see a vein in the kid's forehead pulsing.

Pierce got out a gauze pad, poured some rubbing alcohol on it, and started wiping blood off of the boy's face. He wiped off the cut on Ed's forehead as well, and put a bandage on it. As he worked, Ed's glare faded from a look of fury to one of exhaustion.

"This almost reminds me of when me and Al were at Teacher's," Ed said. "She used to bandage us up after our lessons."

Pierce raised an eyebrow as he began to clean the cut on Ed's arm with another alcohol-soaked gauze pad. "What kind of lessons were those?"

"Alchemy lessons, but she taught us fighting at the same time," Ed explained, wincing as the alcohol touched the wound. "That hurt!"

"Not as much as it would if the wound got infected and we ended up having to amputate," Pierce said evenly, taping a gauze pad over the wound.

"That would be the last thing I need…" Ed muttered. "You done yet?"

"Not quite," Pierce said. "I saw you get kicked pretty hard in the ribs."

Ed rolled his eyes and pulled up the bottom of his uniform. His torso was already covered in bandages. Pierce eyed them appraisingly.

"Nice work," Pierce said. "Did you do this?"

"Nah, it was Fuery," Ed said.

"He did a good job, but I'm going to redo it, in case you have any more broken ribs—that's what this is for, isn't it?"

"One of them is only cracked!" Ed protested, then winced. "Okay, it was cracked. Now it's broken too. Crap."

"Glad to see you're in such a good mood," Pierce said as he unwrapped the bandages.

"You try fighting Envy, then," Ed huffed. "It's not fun. He's fast, but he hits really hard. Maybe if Alphonse was here…"

"Your little brother?" Trapper asked with a laugh. "I don't see how that would make a difference."

Pierce wondered the same thing as he started rewrapping the bandages, careful not to put pressure on the many bruises on the boy's torso. He wondered exactly how hard this Envy kicked, anyhow. Pretty hard, from the looks of it.

"Al's always been a better fighter than me," Ed explained. "And he's younger, but not," Ed stumbled over the hated term. "l-little. Actually, he's, well, he's…taller than me," he said at length.

"Wouldn't take much," Trapper teased.

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SHORT THAT EVERYONE THINKS THAT HIS YOUNGER BROTHER IS OLDER—" Ed broke off, holding his ribs. "OW!"

"Calm down, Ed," Mustang said. "You'll pass out."

"I didn't lose that much blood!" Ed protested.

Mustang stared at him. Ed sighed.

"Fine," he grumbled.

Pierce tied off the bandages. "How about your leg?" he asked.

"I think I just pulled it," Ed said, giving him a smile that was obviously forced. "I'm fine."

"But—" Pierce began to protest, when he noticed Mustang glaring at him. He had no idea why, either. But he guessed that Mustang wanted Ed's leg left alone. Ah, well, he could deal with that.

"So, are we gonna get an explanation of where the h- that wall came from earlier?" Trapper asked.

"It's just like I told Pierce," Ed said carelessly. "I'm a State Alchemist."

"So, like that book?" Pierce asked. "With all the '_control of the Powers whiche course through the Earth_' and the'_Death and Defolation within the ranks of the Enemy_'?"

"Well, minus the author with the flair for the dramatic," Ed laughed. "An alchemist uses circles like the ones both of you saw to channel tectonic energy and transmute matter. A State Alchemist does the same thing, but in the service of the Amestrian military."

"Wait, when you made that wall, there was no circle," Trapper said slowly.

"You wanted to know how a twelve-year-old made it into the military," Ed said. "That's how. There are only a few people who can transmute without a circle."

"Like that Envy guy?" Pierce asked. "There were sparks like the ones around your wall when he healed himself."

"I don't know if what he does really qualifies as alchemy," Ed said. "It's more like, he can regenerate. Envy's a homunculus, an artificial human created by alchemy."

"Wait, you can do that?" Trapper gaped.

"I can't, but there's an alchemist out there who can," Ed said. "Envy's proof of that."

"Alchemists are crazy old guys who try to make gold and find the secret of immortality," Pierce said. "At least, that's what it means here. I'm taking it that there's a different meaning in Amestris?"

"Of course!" Ed said, eyes wide. "Making gold's illegal; it would destabilize the economy. And I don't even want to think about the Equivalent Exchange it would take to create an immortal."

"Equivalent what now?" Pierce asked.

"Equivalent Exchange," Ed said. "It's the principle behind alchemy."

"Okay, so what exactly is alchemy, then?" Pierce asked. He felt overwhelmed, and oddly detached, almost as though he was an outside observer, watching himself have the weirdest conversation he'd ever had.

"Alchemy is the reconstruction of matter in new forms based on the knowledge of natural laws," Ed recited. "Basically, an alchemist analyzes matter, deconstructs it, and then reconstructs it into what they want it to be. Of course, there are limits on it."

"Limits?" Trapper asked.

"Like you can't turn a substance into something that has a completely different composition; you could make sand into glass, but you couldn't make it into iron," Ed explained. "Equivalent Exchange is another one of the limits. Basically, Equivalent Exchange means that you can't make something out of nothing. You have to give something up in order to gain something."

"Sounds more like a philosophy than a science," Pierce observed.

"It's a little of both," Mustang said.

"So what…um…that Envy thing was trying to get us to do, bringing a person back to life, what does that have to do with anything?" Trapper asked.

"Human transmutation, trying to bring back a dead person, is one of the biggest taboos in alchemy," Ed said, his eyes lowered. Pierce noticed his fists, clenched on his lap. "But if a person actually attempts it and survives, they get knowledge of alchemy that other people don't have. I think that's what the homunculi want in their 'human sacrifices.'"

Mustang's face briefly registered surprise. "But they said I was one…and I never…"

"But you could," Ed said. "A person is able to survive it if they're strong-willed and intelligent, or, in your case, stubborn and a know-it-all, so you and the doctors are all perfect candidates for sacrifices."

"What do they want us for?" Trapper asked nervously.

Pierce was equally nervous. He didn't like being called a "sacrifice." He couldn't think of a single way in which that could be a good thing.

"The h- if I know," Ed said. "All I could get out of Envy is that he wants people who can open the Gate—"

"Wait, what gate?" Pierce asked. This was getting stranger and stranger. What did gates have to do with anything?

"You open the Gate when you do human transmutation," Ed explained.

"Okay, and he wants people who can do that," Pierce nodded. "And Mustang is one of them?"

"So are my little brother and I, and, come to think of it, there's one other person…" Ed glanced at Mustang nervously, then trailed off.

"Okay, so what do we do now?" Pierce said.

"Try to interfere with Envy's plans as much as possible," Mustang said.

The door flew over, striking the doorframe loudly. Ed brought his hands together in what looked almost like prayer as Mustang raised a gloved hand, his fingers ready to snap. Pierce and Trapper moved backwards, eyes wide.

"WHAT DID YOU TWO NITWITS DO?" Frank Burns demanded as he stormed into the tent.

"Oh, it's just you," Mustang said, taking off his glove.

"What's up Frank?" Pierce asked.

"Hot Lips kick you out?" Trapper asked.

Frank's face turned a vibrant shade of red. "I'm asking about what you did to the latrines."

"…What?" Pierce asked, genuinely confused.

"Oh, that's what I hit," Ed said, as Pierce turned to stare at him.

"What did we do the latrines?" Trapper asked Frank, eyebrow raised.

"They're completely destroyed," Frank said. "Where did you two get a wrecking ball?"

Now, everyone but Frank was staring at Ed, who shrugged his shoulders sheepishly.

Mustang massaged his temples as Frank glanced at Ed.

"What happened to you?" the major asked.

Pierce, meanwhile, had made a decision.

"Leave off the kid," Pierce said. "How about we just go to Henry's office and save you the trouble of dragging us there."

"That's swell of you, Pierce," Frank said. "But I'm not forgiving you for the latrines, got it?"

"'Course, Frank," Pierce said.

Ed stared up at the two of them, wide eyed, as Pierce looked over his shoulder.

"Get some rest, kid," he said. "Compared to what you did, taking a little heat from Frank and Henry is nothing."

Ed smiled gratefully, and Pierce returned the smile. It really was the least he could do, after all.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Roy watched in silence as Frank and the other doctors left. As soon as the door swung closed, Ed's smile disappeared, and he allowed a tired frown to take its place. He kneaded his flesh shoulder with his auto-mail hand, his expression faraway.

"Ed?" Roy asked, his voice unusually soft.

"Leave me alone," Ed groaned. "I just want to sleep."

"How bad is the damage to your auto-mail?" Roy asked.

"I don't know yet," Ed said. "And I'm really not sure I want to try to figure it out right now."

"I know you're tired, Ed," Roy said gently. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Since when do you care?" Ed snapped.

"Ed, I'm your superior officer and—" Roy began.

"Shove off."

"Ed, what happened?"

"We aren't going home," Ed said.

"Excuse me?" Mustang asked.

"Just what I said," Ed said, his voice flat. Lightless golden eyes bored into Roy. "We aren't going home. Central's not going to bring us back. Envy's finding replacements for us, and when he does, he's going to leave us here, with no way home."

Roy stared at the boy. He stared back, his expression serious. Roy swore to himself. He had people that mattered to him, people that he wanted to see again. He refused to think that he'd never return. And Ed….

"Oh," Roy breathed. Ed would be separated from Al. Permanently. And both of them knew that Ed couldn't take that. He'd go insane.

"I can't do this," Ed said. "Al's…Al's like another part of me. When he's not here, I'm not a whole person. He's the whole reason I became a State Alchemist; you know that. If he's not here, what's the point?" The volume of his voice fell. "What's the point of anything?"

Guilt hit Roy like a tidal wave. It was his fault that Ed was in the military, his fault that he'd been separated from his brother. His fault, all of it. He tried to tell himself that it was Ed's choice to join the military, that Ed had wanted it, needed it, even. How was he to know this would happen. The words sounded hollow, even to him.

"I'm sorry," he said, finally, staring at the ground.

"What?" Ed asked. Then, the boy blinked. "Are you blaming yourself for this? Mustang, what the h-? Not everything is your fault!"

Roy stared at his subordinate, stunned.

"You really are useless, aren't you?" Ed continued. "You could be trying to figure out how to get us home or at least ordering someone to clean up after Envy but instead you're _blaming yourself_? How is that going to help anything? Get off your lazy butt and do something, for alchemy's sake!"

"Why are you giving me orders?" Roy asked, his tone dangerous.

"Because if I don't, Hawkeye will, and she has a gun," Ed said. "Now go! We'll figure out a way to get back, just leave it to me! I'm a prodigy, right, so I should be able to handle this much!"

He should have known. If there was one thing the shrimp could not do, it was give up. Considering the boy's intelligence, it might have been the only thing. And, apparently, he couldn't let others give up, either. Somehow, the part of Ed that was Alphonse's looked-up to older brother had never really been visible to Roy, but he thought, perhaps, that he'd just glimpsed it.

Roy smiled, walked over to Ed, and mussed up his hair, careful of the bandage on the boy's forehead. "You're full of surprises, huh, shrimp?"

And perhaps the biggest surprise of the night was that Ed didn't immediately blow up. It was less of a surprise, though, when Roy realized that the only reason he hadn't was because the blond alchemist had fallen asleep sitting up. He laughed quietly, and carefully picked up the injured boy. Grunting at the combined weight of Ed's auto-mail and his muscle mass, he set Ed on his side, covering him with the blanket that was still bunched up at the foot of the bed.

"Good night," Roy said quietly.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Riza watched from the doorway, glad for the darkness that hid the blush covering her cheeks. No matter how many times he slacked off on paperwork or flirted with any girl he saw, there were always times like these that made up for them and reminded her why she was proud to be the one who watched his back.

Roy wasn't the only one she was proud of. Ed's determination was something to behold, that much was certain.

She smiled to herself. It wasn't every soldier who got to work with such excellent soldiers.

_A/N: By the way, any information about alchemy and/or Amestris that's inaccurate or incomplete is a reflection of the character's current knowledge, as well as what they are choosing to tell the doctors. As for me, I'm reading the English release of the manga, so no spoilers past volume 24 in reviews or PMs, please. Thanks for reading, and please review!_


	16. As Long as We're Still Alive

_A/N: EDITED 4-14-11 when I realized I wrote Riza going and getting Breda and the others after Mustang had already told them to clean up the transmutation circle. Whoops! I'm sorry if anyone got confused by it..._

_I'm sorry for the lateness of this update. Hi, miladyRanger, I told you I'd finish this soon! Anyhow, I'm at 82 reviews right now, and I'm hoping to get to 100 in a few chapters. When I get there, I'm planning on writing a side-story oneshot as a sort of thank-you to everyone for hanging in there this long and being nice enough to tell me what they think. Anyhow, I'll be posting a couple of ideas I've had for oneshots on my profile, and setting up a poll so you guys can vote on which one you want. So, after you read this, check it out!_

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 15: We're Alive

"We're a real mess, aren't we? How uncool. But we're alive. We're alive." –Alphonse Elric, FMA

Henry was in his tent, trying to finish up some paperwork, when Radar walked into the room.

"Major Burns is here," Radar said. "He was shouting something about the latrines…"

Henry swore softly to himself. "Come in, Frank," he grumbled out loud.

"I've had about enough of these two," Frank complained as he walked in, Pierce and Trapper right behind him.

Henry blinked and stared. There was a pretty sizable gauze pad taped to Trapper's neck. "What happened to you?" he asked.

"I cut myself shaving," Trapper said.

"You don't look like you shaved," Henry said flatly.

"Then I cut myself not shaving," Trapper said with a crooked grin.

"You two are up to something, aren't you?" Henry said suspiciously.

"They knocked down the latrines!" Frank broke in.

"Hold on, they did what?" Henry asked, jaw dropping.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Pierce said with a shrug.

"We thought, 'We've never knocked down a latrine before,' and, well, then we just had to try it," Trapper explained.

Henry stared at them for a long moment. Both of the doctors practically beamed back at him. He raised an eyebrow. Their smiles got even bigger.

They were up to something. Henry knew that much. What, he had no idea, but something. Admittedly, he wouldn't put knocking down a latrine past the two of them, but actually owning up to doing it afterwards? Not a chance. The fact that they were admitting to doing it pretty much proved they didn't actually do it…and it was thoughts like that which made him think he'd been in Korea too long.

Honestly, he'd just be content to leave it alone. It was obvious the doctors were covering for somebody, and, annoying as they were, if they were flat-out lying to him, they probably had a decent reason.

"They just confessed!" Frank screeched. "They need to be punished!"

Unfortunately, there was a reason why he couldn't ignore it, and his name was Frank.

Henry rubbed his temples. "I'm putting you two on night duty in post-op tonight. And the money to replace the latrines comes out of your salaries."

Trapper nodded as Pierce offered a mocking salute.

"Well, I'm glad you've decided to actually act like a commanding officer for once," Frank said, a smug smile on his rodent-like face.

Henry was tired, stressed, and not even half-done with his paperwork. "Frank, that's insubordination," he snapped. "You'll be joining McIntyre and Pierce on night duty. Now get the h- out of my office."

Frank sputtered a bit before turning and leaving the room, Pierce and Trapper walking behind him and chuckling.

"I'll ask some of the enlisted men to put the latrines back together in the morning," Radar said. Henry waved his assent before letting his head drop to the desk and beginning to pray silently for a ceasefire.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

A twinge in his ribcage jolted Ed awake. Dazed, he looked around the tent. How exactly had he ended up in bed? He tried to remember, but it was pointless. The time between when Pierce and Trapper left and when he fell asleep was little more than a blur in his memory.

It was still early. But he wasn't in any mood to go back to sleep. He had to get back to Alphonse, which meant he had to figure out how. And even if he didn't have even the faintest idea of how to do it, he knew for sure that he couldn't figure it out by sleeping.

He stretched out his arm, feeling the scab over his injury stretch, and yawned. Rubbing his eyes, he swung his feet over to the side of the bed and tried to get up.

A rush of pins and needles shot through his auto-mail port, and didn't stop. It didn't hurt exactly, but it wasn't pleasant either. He gasped in discomfort and sat back down.

At least it wasn't completely broken. But something was definitely disconnected, and it wasn't going to fix itself. His auto-mail wasn't going to heal if he let it rest for a while. It was already partially broken. All he could do was wait and hope that it didn't break completely before they found a way home.

Winry was going to kill him…if he ever saw her again.

He needed something to do…he needed to distract himself. And then, it came to him. The latrine he'd broken last night! It needed to be fixed, and if there was one thing he had experience with, it was cleaning up after the destructions his fights seemed to cause.

Getting to the other side of camp wouldn't be fun, but he could handle it.

He stumbled out of the tent and across camp, barely keeping his balance. Whatever had come disconnected seemed to have something to do with transmitting the nerve impulses, so the leg was only obeying about half of what he told it to do. Not to mention that the pins and needles got worse every time he put weight on his auto-mail. Still, he could think of worse things. One of the nerve connections could've gotten pinched rather than detached, which would've sent him into a world of pain. Or, his leg could've gotten blown apart, like with Scar. That really would've been bad.

Finally, he made it to the latrines, and allowed a wide grin to spread across his face as he clapped his hands.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Roy woke up to the sound of Ed muttering the names of chemicals to himself. Which wasn't in and of itself unusual, but Ed being up before him—that was.

"Ed?" he asked blearily.

"I woke up early," Ed said. "And I figured I'd try and get some things done while I was awake."

Roy scanned the tent. "The others are still asleep. How's your leg?"

Ed grimaced. "I'm pretty sure some of the nerve connections got screwed up. I can only get it to work right about half the time, and I have this weird pins-and-needles feeling that gets worse when I put weight on it."

"Wait, in the auto-mail?" Roy asked.

"No, in what's left of the leg," Ed explained. Roy had the grace to grimace in embarrassment. He knew enough about auto-mail to know that it didn't have nerve endings; if it hadn't been so early, he probably wouldn't have asked such an idiotic question.

"Can you walk on it?"

"Yeah, but it would be easy for someone to notice that something's wrong with it," Ed said. "I end up limping a little, especially if I'm trying to move too quickly."

"Okay, so what do we do?" Roy asked.

"We figure out a good explanation for why Pierce can't look at my leg," Ed said.

"I'm a colonel, he's a captain," Roy pointed out. "I think that's a good explanation."

"He won't take that kind of crap, and you know it," Ed said. "Try again, Colonel Useless."

"Will you—" Roy started to snap.

"We're trying to sleep!" Trapper moaned from his bunk.

"Now look what you did!" Ed whispered sharply. "If they heard anything, you're dead."

"As if you could kill me," Roy said archly.

Ed glared at him.

"Calm down, and go get changed," Roy said. "Your uniform is covered in blood; you can't wear it in camp. I assume you brought your normal outfit with you as well?"

Ed made a mumbling sound that Roy took as assent, got up, and staggered over to his suitcase, pulling out a bundle of black clothing before heading out the door.

As the boy limped out of the tent, Roy sighed. Ed was right. His limp was too obvious for the doctors to miss. Not to mention it was bad enough to slow him down in a fight, if another one came along. Ed needed a mechanic. And even if Korea was a little short on actual auto-mail experts, there had to be someone at the 4077th who knew what they were doing with a wrench.

Military command had ordered him to keep Ed's auto-mail quiet. However, military command had also decided to strand him and his men in Korea because they were no longer useful as puppets. In other words, military command and its orders no longer meant anything to him, at least not until they found a way to get back home.

That didn't mean, however, that he was going to tell just anyone about Ed's limbs. For one thing, he didn't think Trapper and Pierce would take the revelation too well. They clearly thought of Ed as a little brother of sorts, and had gotten quite protective of him. If they found out, they would get upset. And Ed, being himself, would feel guilty about the fact that his losing his limbs upset them. Honestly, it was almost amazing how much Ed could blame himself for when he wanted to.

So that ruled out the doctors, even though they were probably the ones at the 4077th with the highest likelihood of actually being able to help, given their knowledge of human anatomy, upon which auto-mail was based. He included Henry and Frank in those being ruled out, since Henry was a decent surgeon, but needed Radar's help for mechanical tasks as simple as using his phone, and Frank, well, Frank was just incompetent. He didn't know Margaret well enough to know if she was skilled with machines, or even if she was trustworthy. Besides, she reminded him too much of Olivier Armstrong for his own comfort.

Radar seemed to be decent with machines—but he would get as upset as Pierce and Trapper if he found out. And if Ed would feel guilty about upsetting the doctors, he would feel even worse about Radar, since the corporal seemed to remind him of Al. None of the nurses would even know where to start, and the same probably went for the MPs…

And then, suddenly, all of Roy's wandering thoughts suddenly gathered themselves around a single conclusion. He knew who to ask. He just had to hope that they'd be willing to do it.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Radar, followed by a group of enlisted men, walked across the compound, tools in hand. He wasn't looking forward to putting the latrines back together, but someone had to do it.

But when they got there, there wasn't a single board out of place on any of the latrines. They looked nicer than usual, actually.

Radar rubbed his eyes, looked at the latrines, and rubbed his eyes again.

He supposed this was Pierce and Trapper's idea of a joke.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

After getting out of the breakfast line, Margaret carefully set her tray down on the table, trying not to wake the red-headed Amestrian who was nodding off in the seat across from her. Frank had no such concern, however, and the clatter of his tray against the wood jolted the heavyset man awake.

"Huh?" Breda asked, startled and blinking rapidly. "Envy agai—oh, it's only you."

"What?" Frank asked.

"Don't mind me," Breda said. "I didn't sleep too well last night—I'm sort of out of it."

Margaret smiled gracefully at him. "That's fine. Where are the other Amestrians?"

"Still asleep, well, except for the lieutenant colonel—it's her turn to guard the supply tent," Breda explained. "Oh, and Mustang's probably with Ed. The kid's not feeling so good this morning."

"Did he start a fight with someone?" Frank asked.

Margaret glanced at him questioningly.

"He was covered in bandages when I came back to the tent last night," Frank explained.

Margaret raised an eyebrow. If someone at the 4077th was starting fights with fifteen-year-old members of diplomatic envoys, they were going to have to answer to her.

Breda shrugged. "Hawkeye said something about the camp dog…I was half-asleep at the time. He must be really under the weather, then, though. The kid's too tough to get beat up any other way."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "Isn't he a researcher?"

"'To train the mind, you have to first train the body,' or at least that's what he always says," Breda said. "I'm pretty sure he got the idea from his teacher."

"I remember him mentioning a teacher…" Frank said thoughtfully. "He said he learned to swear from him—and from you. Why would you teach a kid that sort of stuff, anyhow?"

"Only seemed fair," Breda said with a wry smile. "The kid's got more to curse about than most people, so he oughtta at least know the words to use,"

"A lot more to curse about?" Margaret asked.

"Do you think a kid joins the military when he's twelve 'cause his life's been nothing but easy up 'till then?" Breda asked.

"I suppose not," Margaret said quietly, thinking. What kind of life would lead a child to join the military at that age? She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"It's still no excuse for being so rude all of the time," Frank grumbled.

"He's rude, yeah, but he's a good kid," Breda said. "He has a bad temper, and he can be pretty immature when he feels like it, but, where it counts, he's a good kid."

Margaret was confused by the obvious respect that was in Breda's voice.

"He's a fifteen-year-old who's been promoted over you," Frank said, voicing the source of Margaret's confusion. "Don't you think that's even a little unfair?"

"You've never seen him in a fight," Breda said. "None of us except the Lieutenant Colonel and the Colonel can keep up with him. The kid's a genius. One h- of a big brother, too."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Frank asked, confused.

"Let me put it this way," Breda said. "You remember that serial killer we told you about? Ed was away from headquarters when we found out he was in the area. We sent someone to warn him as soon as we found out, and then went to try and find him and his brother."

"We found the person we sent to warn them first. The killer had gotten him. There was blood everywhere. But only one body. Finally, after looking for a while, we hear the killer, yelling some sort of B.S. about 'divine judgment'. We were all scared stiff that one of them was already dead."

"Then we hear Ed's voice, and he's asking the guy if he's planning on killing his little brother—Al, remember, we mentioned him once," Breda continued. "The killer says no, so Ed makes him promise that he won't. By this time, we're close enough to see them. Ed's laying on the ground, half-unconscious, and the killer's standing over him. And all Ed's thinking about is whether Al's gonna be safe. The whole time, Al's yelling at Ed to run. But Ed doesn't run. He gets the killer to promise not to kill Al, and then he just closes his eyes and waits to die."

"Mustang got there about then, and managed to distract the guy. We got Ed outta the way as quick as we could. But, ya know, if we hadn't shown up, Ed would've let the guy kill him, just so Al would be safe. That's the kind of person the kid is."

"Sounds like he's suicidal," Frank said.

"I wouldn't blame him if he was," Breda said absently, clearly thinking about something else. "But he's not. He just cares a lot about his brother, and there literally isn't anything he won't do for him. That's why he's such a good kid. Well, that, and he's really tough."

"Tough?" Margaret asked, remembering how easily Ed had gotten insulted when Frank had mentioned his mother.

"You have no idea," Breda said. "I could give you an example, but most of it's classified…."

"Classified?" Margaret asked. "How classified can something involving a fifteen-year old researcher—"

"Some of it's pretty much limited to the group of us that are here, a few others, and High Command," Breda said. "So, pretty classified. Let's see, is there anything…oh, there was the time he and his brother were on a train when it was captured by terrorists. They took out almost all of them on their own, and the only reason they needed any help at all was that the leader had a hidden knife."

"Almost…all…" Frank murmured. "How many were there?"

"At least ten, if I remember," Breda said. "That was a while back."

Frank let out an impressed whistle. "I didn't know anyone other than me could do that as a fifteen-year-old."

Margaret raised an eyebrow. "_You_ did something like that?"

"Well, no, but I could've!" Frank protested. Margaret rolled her eyes. Honestly, the man was just an embarrassment sometimes.

Breda looked at Frank for a few seconds. "Sorry, I can't see it," he said with a lazy smile.

"Stop making fun of me!" Frank snapped. "I am your superior officer and you need to treat me with respect."

"Not in your command structure, remember?" Breda said carelessly.

Frank mumbled something that sounded very rude under his breath.

"So you've known Ed for a while?" Margaret asked.

"Yeah, I guess," Breda said. "He doesn't spend much time at headquarters; usually, he's travelling, but we talk sometimes when he comes in to give a report."

"What about?" Frank asked.

"Math, usually," Breda said. "Like I said, the kid's a genius. He specializes in science, but he's good at math too, so I'll try to have a professional journal lying around somewhere so we can talk about whatever new research is out there."

"You're interested in that sort of thing?" Frank asked.

Breda sighed. "People always assume I'm not too smart, just 'cause I don't look the part and I don't throw around big words for the h- of it. Actually, I always liked math. But it doesn't pay too well, you know, and the army does."

"And this is what the two of you do for fun?" Frank asked faintly.

Margaret was surprised, as well. Breda didn't look like the type to sit around doing math problems.

"It's a challenge, trying to keep up with Ed in a conversation," Breda said. "He's…well, he's good at taking things apart, understanding them, and putting them back together, and that includes ideas. So just trying to follow his thought process is fun for me. Plus, none of the others really like this sort of thing, so he's the only one I can talk about it with. And for Ed, it's a good way to take a break from his research, especially if he hit a dead end. That happens a lot."

"I thought you said he was good," Frank said suspiciously.

"He is," Breda said. "But the stuff he researches is pretty obscure, so he ends up travelling around a lot trying to find good sources. And half of them usually turn out to be worthless."

"Must be frustrating," Margaret observed, wondering at the boy's patience. "Why doesn't he research something else?"

"What he's researching now is what he got into the military to research," Breda said. "He wouldn't give up on it, not with a really good—no, even with a really good reason to stop, he'd still probably keep going. That's just the kind of person he is."

As she listened to Breda, Margaret found herself becoming more and more curious about the youngest of the 4077th's guests. She'd written him off as a loudmouthed brat not long after meeting him, but she was beginning to think that she'd been wrong to do so. It seemed like there was more to Major Elric that met the eye.

After all, the other Amestrians seemed like good people. She respected Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye, even if she didn't really like the woman or feel quite comfortable around her. And even if the feeling wasn't mutual, she was still quite fond of Colonel Mustang. And Breda was honest and easy to talk to, even if, up to this point, she hadn't really seen much of him. Maybe it was time to give Ed another chance.

_A/N: Thanks for reading! The discussions about math that Breda and Ed have are my own creation. __All the manga tells us about his hobbies is that he likes chess, but Ed wouldn't have the patience for it, so I figured that since Breda was smart, they could talk about something academic. I decided that math would be a good choice, since Ed's science background would give him basic knowledge, but it isn't actually alchemy, so someone else intelligent would be able to keep up with him in it._


	17. I Cannot Take This Sitting Down

_A/N: Hello, all! The 100-review goal has officially been reached, and you can find the oneshot that got the most votes, "Heroes" under the FMA/M*A*S*H crossover category or on my profile page. Once again, thank you all for your reviews, I really appreciate them. I hope you all like the new chapter—I had fun writing it, and I know that miladyRanger will appreciate the Roy-angst in the last section. Things are getting more complicated for the characters as the plot continues…maybe I should start being nicer to them? Nah…_

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 16: I Cannot Take This Sitting Down

**"I can take umbrage, I can take the cake, I can take the A-train, I can take two and call me in the morning, but I cannot take this sitting down. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna take five." – Dr. Pierce, M*A*S*H**

Henry sighed as he tried to remember whether he needed to sign or initial the requisitions for more bandages. He had the sudden urge to find whoever had come up with paperwork and court-martial them. Seriously, it was getting to the point where one had to fill out a form to get permission to sneeze! He was distracted from his train of thought when the sound of his office door squeaking on its hinges reached his ears.

"What is it?" he called, his tone a bit harsher than he'd intended it to be. Paperwork did that.

"Sparkyjus'calledmean'!" Radar exclaimed as he burst into the small room.

Henry stared at him for a few minutes, blinked, and then continued staring. "What?" he finally asked.

"I said, Sparky just called and told me that the fighting's getting close to us. He thinks we might have to bug out!"

Henry's mind, exhausted from paperwork, initially drew a blank on the name Sparky, until he remembered that it was the operator's nickname. The realization made Radar's statement make much more sense.

"Well, why didn't you say so?"

"I did, sir."

Henry was confused, but decided he could ask Radar what the heck he meant later on. "Forget Sparky, has anyone with stars on their uniforms said anything?"

"I dunno…let me ask Sparky," Radar said, heading out the door. "He's still on the line."

While he waited for Radar, Henry decided to play it safe and sign the forms instead of just initialing them. His hands were already aching and it wasn't even lunchtime. It was going to be one of those days, he realized.

Radar poked his head back into the office. "Um, does four stars count?"

"Four stars?"

"On his uniform."

A four-star general was saying they might have to get out of the area? This was serious. "Radar, write up an announcement—"

"—telling the officers to get up here so you can talk to them, and then start the enlisted men on taking down tents we aren't using at the moment," Radar said.

"—telling the officers to get up here so…Radar, will you cut that out?"

"Of course, sir."

"Is anything going to go right today?" Henry muttered, half to himself.

"The latrines weren't actually broken," Radar offered.

"So they just made it up?" Henry asked, wondering if Pierce and Trapper really were losing it.

"Either that, or someone fixed 'em completely before I got there," Radar said.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Pierce, now awake, was pulling on his boots when Ed limped back into the tent. Literally, he limped.

"I thought you said your leg was fine," Pierce accused.

"Just a cramp," Ed muttered, avoiding his gaze.

"Right," Pierce said slowly. He glanced at Trapper, who raised an eyebrow. Neither of them believed him, apparently.

Ed made a soft harrumphing noise before dragging himself over to his bed. Pierce looked more carefully at him. He was wearing different clothes, now—a black jacket lined with white, with a metal clasp at his neck, over a black shirt. His pants were black, too. All of this had the effect of making the dark circles beneath the boy's eyes even more pronounced. He looked exhausted.

"Maybe you should lie down, kid," he suggested.

"I'm not tired," Ed protested.

"Ed…" Roy said. "Listen for once. He's right, and you know it."

"Fine," Ed said grumpily, climbing into bed.

"So, where's Frank?" Roy asked.

"The Chinless Wonder already went to breakfast," Trapper said. "You know what they say. Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and incompetent."

Roy stared at him for a moment.

"It's supposed to be 'wise'," Pierce supplied.

"Oh," Roy said. "An American saying?"

"A quote, from an American named Benjamin Franklin," Pierce explained. "My namesake."

"Ah," Roy said. "What's he known for?"

"Officially, he was an inventor, a politician, a thinker and a diplomat," Pierce said. "Mostly, though, he was just a smart-Alec who thought outside of the box and was somehow irresistible to French women even when he was in his eighties."

"Sounds like a great man," Roy said approvingly. "I assume "French" is one of your allies?"

"Well, they used to be, anyhow," Pierce said. "Franklin took off for the big Constitutional Convention in the sky a century and a half ago, and things have changed a bit since then…"

Suddenly, the loudspeaker broke into their conversation. "Attention, all officers: Please report to Henry's office."

"If this is another 'Fraternization Policy Awareness Meeting', I'm hiding his fishing hat," Pierce declared.

"Should I come?" Roy asked.

"Probably," Trapper said. "Worst he could do is kick you out."

Henry, as it turned out, had no desire to kick Roy out, as they found out when they arrived at his office.

"Hey, Mustang, would you mind doing some paperwork for me? I think I sprained my wrist…" Henry said from behind a sizable pile of paperwork.

"Is that why you called this meeting?" Roy asked, eyebrow raised.

"Nah, I just really don't want to do it," Henry said sheepishly.

"I've got enough of my own, thank you," Roy said firmly.

"It was worth a try…" Henry said. "Hey, where's—"

"I'll have you know that you interrupted my breakfast," Frank said, walking in with Hot Lips right behind him. "There had better be a good reason for this meeting."

"We had no idea!" Trapper exclaimed.

"Can it, all of you," Henry said. "This is important. We might have to bug out within the next forty-eight hours, so I need you to be ready."

"Bug out!" Margaret exclaimed. "Why?"

"The fighting's getting a little too close for comfort," Henry said. "According to the brass, we'll start hearing the shells any time now."

"…I'm not familiar with the term 'bug out,' Roy stated. "What are you talking about?"

"When an American soldier uses the term—" Frank began.

"Retreat," Pierce interrupted. "Or 'Get out of the line of fire before the people who are supposed to be patching the soldiers up get blown into oblivion too'. Whichever you prefer."

"And…how does this normally work?" Roy asked.

"We'll pack up the tents and such, and send them ahead on trucks, then the rest of us will march towards the mountains," Radar said. "There are some caves there, so we'll be safe from the shelling."

Pierce grimaced. Great. The caves again. Honestly, he couldn't understand how, out of all possible phobias, he'd ended up claustrophobic. So, he'd have to choose between staying outside and quite possibly getting blown up or going in the caves and having a panic attack. At least he was usually okay if he stayed near the mouth of the cave.

"Now, I don't want you telling anyone about this," Henry said. "I don't need a panic."

"I think my subordinates can be trusted," Roy said. "They've stayed levelheaded in situations that were far worse."

"They're your men; you can tell them whatever you want," Henry said with a shrug. "Just tell them to keep their mouths shut about it around camp."

"Right," Roy said.

"That's pretty much all I wanted to tell you," Henry said. "It's not a sure thing that we'll bug out, so there's no use in getting too worked up about it. Just in case, though, I'd like you to walk through Post-Op after this and make sure that the patients are okay to move. Radar, did I forget anything?"

"The latrines, sir," Radar said.

"Oh, right," Henry said, giving Pierce and Trapper a sharp look—or, at least, as much of one as he could manage. "According to Radar, there was nothing wrong with the latrines at all. I don't know what you two were trying to do, but I'm gonna find out. Still, since you didn't actually do anything, you're off night shifts."

_What?_ Pierce thought. Ed had all but told them that he'd knocked down the latrines in his fight with Envy, so how…his gaze met Roy's, and suddenly, he realized. _Ed fixed them?_

Roy muttered something under his breath. Fulhmedal? Foolmedarh? It was too quiet for Pierce to make out.

"What?" Henry asked.

"Nothing," Roy said quickly.

"Well, anyhow, you're all dismissed," Henry said.

Pierce offered him a deliberately sloppy salute before he left, then hurried to catch Roy, who was out of the room as soon as Henry said "dismissed".

"Hey, Roy!" Pierce called.

Roy stopped, then turned to face him. "What?"

"What did you say under your breath just now, when you figured out Ed fixed the latrines?" he asked. "It sounded almost like 'full metal'?"

"…That is what I said," Roy said at length, looking uncomfortable.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Pierce asked.

"It's a codename of Ed's," Roy said.

"Fullmetal?" Pierce asked. "Why would that be his codename?"

"Because the Fuhrer has a twisted sense of humor," Mustang muttered darkly.

"Huh?"

"Can we talk about this later? I have something I have to do."

"…Okay," Pierce said slowly, feeling more confused than ever. Just when he thought the Amestrians couldn't get any stranger…

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

As he left Pierce, Roy swore under his breath. He needed to get Ed's auto-mail fixed, and fast. If they did "bug out", they were going to be marching for a fair distance. And that was going to be a problem if Ed couldn't even walk properly.

Hopefully, the person he planned to ask would be willing to help. Because, if he wasn't, Roy honestly didn't know what he was going to do.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Corporal Maxwell Klinger grimaced as the clip on the gaudy faux-pearl earring he was putting on snapped closed. He would have thought that with all of the advances technology had been making recently, someone would have figured out how to make a clip-on that didn't hurt quite so much, but no one had.

He fastened its twin to his other ear, and tugged the hem on the blue silk party dress he was wearing, all the while glancing over his hose to make sure there weren't any holes in it.

He heard knocking on the door of his tent, and, looking over his outfit once more to make sure he was decent, called, "Come on in!"

To his surprise, he was greeted with the sight of a slightly winded Colonel Mustang.

"Hey, Mustang, what's up?" Klinger asked, figuring he didn't know the man quite well enough to call him "Roy".

The man took a moment to catch his breath, before saying, "I need your help."

"What with?" Klinger asked, not a little apprehensively. He hadn't forgotten their last conversation, and he wasn't sure he wanted to get mixed up in something so dangerous.

"You have some experience with mechanics, correct?" Mustang asked.

"Yeah, I mean, I worked in my cousin's garage for a while, and I'm pretty good with engine work…I mean, I'm nothing special but I can at least get it moving…" Klinger said, wondering what exactly he was being asked to do.

"That's perfectly fine, all we need is for it to move," Mustang said. "Are you free at the moment?"

"I was going to breakfast, but after that I'm not on duty 'til after dinner," Klinger said.

"Come by the Swamp after you're finished eating, then," Mustang instructed. "And wear something that you don't mind getting dirty."

"What exactly are you asking me to do?" Klinger asked.

"I'd rather not discuss that outside of the Swamp," Mustang said.

"Why not?" Klinger demanded. Mustang's cryptic answers were starting to annoy him. "And what about your half of the deal, huh? Where's my Section 8?"

"I promise, I'll take care of it," Mustang said. He was quiet for a few seconds. "I…I need you to do this."

Mustang's posture was stiffer than usual, and you could see the tension in his jaw. From what Klinger could tell, it was killing him to have to ask for help. But he was doing it anyway, which meant this was serious. With a small, inward groan, Klinger realized that he had no way of turning Mustang down without feeling like a clod of dirt for refusing him when he was…well, not clearly desperate, but as close to it as his normal range of expression would allow.

"Okay, fine," Klinger said. "I'll be there."

The tension left Mustang's stance. "I really appreciate this," he said, a little stiffly. Klinger wondered when the last time the guy had actually asked a favor had been. He wasn't sure, but "not recently" seemed like a safe bet.

Klinger nodded, a little uncomfortably, and watched Mustang walk away. He was still wondering exactly what he had signed up for. And what he would wear. After all, the dress he was in now was silk, and it would be a real waste if he messed it up.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Hawkeye was just finishing breakfast when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Sir?" she asked, surprised, as she turned around and saw the colonel standing behind her.

"I'd just like to congratulate you on what an excellent job you've been doing lately," Mustang said, extending a hand.

Confused, but willing to play along, Hawkeye offered her own hand as well. He shook it, and, as he withdrew his hand, she felt a piece of paper resting on her palm. Careful not to let her surprise show in her expression in the least, she smiled at the colonel.

"Thank you, sir," she said.

As her commanding officer headed toward the food line, she scanned her surroundings, and, content that no one was watching her, opened the note.

_Hte guiha si getnitg cosle. Hte Acerinams mya hvae ot gr'sak, nda fi taht hepnaps, ew will gr'sak wtih tehm. Hte chuthmit mya tyr ot tkae agvandate fo hte cnosoufin, os paeles kpee wctah. Flatelmaul's lge si tno focninintug. I swa fecrod ot trun ot Kneiglr fro help. I od nto kwon hwo mchu I wlli hvae ot tlel mhi. Paeles pssa tshi ifantomorin no ot the orhets._

She smiled quietly as she scanned the note. It was written in a mixture of crude Ishballan, and scrambled-up Amestrian. While neither of them spoke Ishbal's language fluently, every veteran of that war knew words like "retreat", "enemy" and "fighting". The scrambled Amestrian only served to make the note seem more difficult to decode. However, since the first and last letters of most of the words hadn't actually been changed, it was easy enough to read if one tried. Still, with the most important words in Ishballan, and Ed's codename used, no one from this side of the Gate would have any idea of what it meant, which Hawkeye thought was probably the point. The relative weakness of the code indicated that it was not Envy, but the Americans, who Mustang wished to keep this information from.

_The fighting is getting close. The Americans may have to retreat, and if that happens, we will leave with them. The enemy may try to take advantage of the confusion, so please keep an eye out. Also, Ed's leg is not functioning. I was forced to turn to Klinger for help. I don't know how much I'll have to tell him. Please pass this information on to the others._

As she had thought, the contents of the note were more a secret from the Americans than from Envy. Probably, the retreat wasn't supposed to be common knowledge.

She wasn't quite sure how she felt about getting Klinger involved in everything that had been happening, but she decided it was probably best just to defer to her commanding officer in this instance. Sighing, she tucked the note in her pocket and went to look for the others.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ed, awake from his nap, rubbed the skin around the auto-mail port on his leg with both hands, trying to get rid of the pins-and-needles sensation, which was really starting to bother him. The tightness of his rolled-up leather pants leg around his upper thigh cutting off his circulation wasn't precisely helping the situation, either.

At the sound of footsteps, he quickly rolled down his pants leg, covering the metal. When the door swung open and Mustang stepped in, he found himself breathing a sigh of relief, then chuckling softly at the idea of being relieved to see _Mustang._

"Do I look that funny, Ed?" Mustang asked, eyebrow raised.

"Constantly," Ed deadpanned. "How was the meeting?"

Mustang grimaced. "It went fine, but the news isn't good. We might have to leave the area to avoid the fighting."

"How's that bad?" Ed asked.

"We'd be walking," Mustang said, with a pointed glance at Ed's leg.

"Oh."

"Exactly," Mustang said. "We need to get someone to look at your leg, Ed."

"No way!" Ed protested. "They'll mess it up and then Winry will kill me!" He could practically feel the wrenches bouncing off of his skull already.

"Ed, you don't really have a choice," Mustang said, looking tired. "If you stay here, you'll be in danger, and people will get suspicious. Trapper and Pierce knowyou're lying about nothing being wrong with your leg. They're going to try to look at it, and I don't know how long I can keep them from doing so."

Ed absolutely hated it when Mustang was right. But he still did not like this. "…Who around here would know about auto-mail, anyway?"

"I asked Klinger."

"WHAT?" Ed demanded. "I am not letting the cross-dressing psycho anywhere near my leg!"

"He at least knows something about mechanics," Mustang said levelly. "And he's willing to do me a favor. That's more than I can say of most people around here."

"But…" Ed protested weakly.

"I haven't told him it's your leg he's fixing; I just asked him to come to the Swamp after breakfast. Because we might be retreating, Pierce and Trapper will be busy and shouldn't be in here for a while, so he can work without being interrupted. But if it's really a problem, I can tell him we found someone else to do it and we can have Trapper or Pierce help."

Ed cursed Mustang, along with any children he might have. He was entirely too good at manipulating people. He knew that Ed didn't want to show the doctors his auto-mail, and he was using that…

"Fine!" Ed huffed.

"Did Winry give you any diagrams or instructions that might help him figure out what's wrong?" Mustang asked.

"I think there's something…let me check my suitcase," Ed said, getting up and wincing slightly as the pins-and-needles feeling sharpened.

_Ignore it… _he told himself, as he made his way over to his suitcase. He hated it when his leg was out of whack. He always felt off balance and clumsy…

As he extended his auto-mail leg to take another step, he heard something 'pop' inside of his leg, and, when he put it down and tried to move forward, it buckled. Suddenly, he was falling. On instinct, he tried to catch himself, but he was late, and he ended up landing face-first on the tent's dirt floor. He winced as his ribs reminded him they were broken, and tried to move his auto-mail leg. He was frustrated but not surprised when it didn't respond in the least. Ah, well. At least the pins and needles were gone.

Pressing his palms and his flesh foot, beneath his bent leg, into the floor, he tried to get up. He managed to get his torso about a foot off of the floor before his flesh limbs started trembling from the combined stresses of his injuries from the previous night and using the energy required to lift a large piece of metal dead weight. Letting out a grunt of frustration, he let himself collapse again.

"Ed?" he heard Mustang ask.

"I'm fine," Ed lied through his teeth, sitting up and clutching his ribs. He was still shaking, although whether it was exhaustion or the uncomfortable feelings of helplessness that were creeping into his mind, he wasn't sure.

He tried to get onto his feet again, but couldn't even summon the strength to get off of the ground. Maybe he shouldn't have woken up so early…but it was a little late to think of that now.

"Ed, what happened?" Mustang asked. "Did you fall?"

"Yeah," Ed said, his mouth starting to feel dry. "My leg stopped working."

"Can you get up?" Mustang asked.

"Of course," Ed snapped.

He tried again, this time actually managing to get up to a crouch before the heaviness of his now-useless leg set him off balance and made him fall sideways, right into someone's foot locker. He bit his tongue, determined not to make a sound, as the cut on his arm slammed into the metal and started almost burning instead of aching.

Mustang, meanwhile, bent down into a crouch in front of him, extending a gloved hand to tilt Ed's face upwards so that he was looking Mustang in the eye.

"Can you really?" he asked. The expression on his face was firm, but strangely gentle, a little like his father's had been when he was a kid and Hohenheim had been trying to get him to admit that he'd done something wrong.

Ed would have been creeped out by Mustang's just plain out-of-character niceness if he wasn't so tired, if his leg were working, or if his arm and ribs didn't feel like they were being stabbed repeatedly. But he was, it wasn't, and they did, so he just tried his best to avoid Mustang's gaze as he admitted, "Probably not."

Mustang nodded, and regarded Ed with an expression that almost seemed proud, before putting his arm under Ed's auto-mail one and hauling him to his feet.

The weight of the broken leg pulled both of them off balance, but Mustang just wrapped his arm around Ed's back, and, with a grunt of exertion, swung Ed over his shoulder. Mustang's shoulder blade dug into Ed's injured ribs for a few seconds as the colonel carried him to his bed, and then set him down.

He then walked back over to where Ed had fallen, got Ed's suitcase, and carried it across the room before setting it down on his bed, its weight making the bed's frame creak loudly. He then walked back to his bed, looking exhausted and rubbing his shoulder.

"Thank you," Ed said quietly.

Mustang made a dismissive waving gesture before practically collapsing onto his bunk.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Roy grimaced and rubbed his shoulder again. It ached like crazy. Clearly, he was not made for carrying around way-too-heavy-for-their-size alchemists. Or their insanely heavy suitcases. Were those research documents printed on lead?

Still, he was secretly a little proud of Ed. Ed wasn't any better at asking for help than Roy—if anything, he was worse at it, which was saying something. But Ed had realized he needed help and he'd asked for it. Even if it had taken him quite literally collapsing for him to do it.

Though the collapsing part had scared the heck out of Roy at first. One moment, he was asking the kid to look for some blueprints, the next minute, he heard a loud thump and turned around to see a black-and-gold heap on the ground. At first, he hadn't known what was wrong with Ed, and, for a second, he had been terrified that something was seriously wrong with the blond alchemist.

And there was something…unsettling about watching Ed struggling to get up. It was the same feeling he'd had right after they'd arrived at the 4077th, and he'd comforted Ed after his nightmare. He'd been suddenly struck by a feeling that he shouldn't be watching this, that it was too…private, maybe? He wasn't sure.

Probably, in part, it was the fact that he himself hated letting others seem him being weak. It was embarrassing, somehow, even when the people he was with were ones he trusted. He was probably projecting that onto Ed…but, at the same time, Ed was the one who always lied and said he was "fine" even when he wasn't in the least. At any rate, Roy was sure that if he were in Ed's position, he wouldn't have wanted that to be seen.

There was also the part of his mind that liked to think of Ed as invincible. It seemed like it, sometimes—like no matter what you threw at him, he'd just come back, demanding to know if that was all you had. But Roy knew Ed well enough to know that wasn't true. Ed was strong, incredibly so, but he could be hurt. If he couldn't be, he wouldn't end up in the hospital so frequently. Still, thinking of Ed as invincible was a difficult mindset to shake, given both Ed's almost unbelievable resilience, and the fact that if he really was invincible, Roy wouldn't have to worry about him nearly as much.

Sighing, Roy ran a hand through his hair and tried to focus. Melancholy thoughts weren't going to help either of them. He had to be practical; he had to focus on the present. Well, he would start with the main problem—Ed's leg. Hopefully, Klinger would be able to fix it. Because it was becoming painfully clear (painfully, in that his shoulder felt like it was on fire) that he wouldn't be able to carry Ed if it came down to that, and he didn't know how else they could get Ed around—he could imagine the fireworks if he so much as suggested a wheelchair.

_A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the new chapter. I know the code Mustang uses in the note is kind of lame, and, yes, I got the idea from that copy-and-paste that floats around this site, but I didn't want to do anything too complicated. The words in Ishballan I made up, using parts of words from various languages shoved together into something that isn't actually a word, but should sound a little bit like actual words for the term in various languages. I'm looking forward to writing the next chapter…some stuff that I've been waiting _forever_ to write is coming up soon, so I hope you'll have as much fun reading it as I will writing it! If you liked the chapter, I hope you'll review!_


	18. Someone Who Seeks the Truth

_A/N: This is the chapter a lot of people, myself included, have been waiting for. People are going to start finding out about Ed's auto-mail. Obviously, Klinger has to find out if he's going to fix it, but he won't be the only one. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it._

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 17: Someone Who Seeks the Truth

"**An alchemist is someone who seeks the truth. I can't just look at what's convenient and ignore everything else. I won't run away. No matter what!" -Edward Elric**

Klinger walked into the Swamp wearing a bright pink sweater over his regulation uniform.

To his credit, Mustang didn't even bat an eyelash. Ed's reaction, however, was a little less low-key.

"My eyes!" Ed wailed from his seat on his bed, a mischievous smile on his face. "Augh…they burn!"

"Shut it, shrimp," Klinger said, recalling what Pierce had told him of the young major's pet peeves.

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SHORT THAT—" Ed started, trying to get up. Instead, his leg buckled, and he fell back onto the bed, causing the bed to let out a loud creak and the blond to let out a stream of profanity.

"You okay there?" Klinger asked, noticing for the first time both how pale the boy was, and the presence of dark circles under his eyes.

"I'm fine," Ed said quickly, rubbing his leg.

"Ah, does someone want to tell me why I'm here?" Klinger asked.

Ed and Mustang exchanged glances.

"You tell him," Mustang said.

"You do it!"

"I'm your commanding officer."

"Arrogant b*******!"

"Shrimp!"

"WHY DON'T YOU COME OVER HERE AND LET ME WIPE THAT SMUG SMILE OFF OF YOUR FACE?"

Mustang sighed, and Klinger realized that he looked just as exhausted as Ed, if not more so.

"Why don't you just go over there?" Klinger asked, confused.

A shadow passed over Ed's expression. "I can't. My leg's busted."

_Busted?_ Klinger echoed mentally. That was a weird way to refer to an injured leg.

"Aren't you going to have Pierce or Trapper look at it?" Klinger asked.

"Actually, that's why you're here," Mustang said.

"Me?" Klinger asked. "I'm no doctor! What am I supposed to do?"

Ed grimaced slightly and pulled up his pant leg. "I don't need a doctor. I need a mechanic."

Klinger stared. Ed's leg glinted in the low light, reflecting the rest of the tent dimly on its steel surface.

He worked his jaw for a few moments, trying to think of something to say.

"YOU'RE A ROBOT?" he shouted.

"HECK NO!" Ed exploded.

"Then…how…" Klinger stuttered.

"It's a prosthetic, Klinger," Ed deadpanned. "Please lay off the sci-fi movies for a while."

"And while you're at it, be quieter," Mustang said. "We don't need to attract any attention. You aren't supposed to know about Ed's auto-mail, and we'll all be in danger if anyone realizes that his leg is broken."

"…Auto-mail?" Klinger asked at length.

"That's what it's called," Ed said. "It moves just like a real leg…except, of course, when it's broken."

"So that's what I'm supposed to fix?" Klinger asked incredulously.

"I know it's a lot to ask," Mustang said. "But Ed needs that leg to get around and you're the person around here with the best chance of being able to get it working."

"I don't know if it'll help, but here's a blueprint," Ed put in, handing Klinger, who was wondering, vaguely, if he was dreaming.

Klinger unfolded it and started to look it over. The basic mechanisms of the leg weren't even that complicated, the problem was that there were so many of them, and most seemed to be dependent on one another. One or two of the wrong parts breaking could mess up the whole leg. So, the trick would be finding the parts that broke, and fixing them without breaking or disrupting anything else in the process. Still, there were so many pieces…

"Are you sure I can do this?" he asked, finally. "This thing is complicated. And probably expensive. I don't want to break it."

"It already doesn't work, so you can't exactly make it worse," Ed pointed out. "And, yeah, it was expensive, but I can afford to replace it if I have to. I just can't get a replacement here."

"If we didn't think you could do it, we wouldn't have asked you to," Mustang said levelly.

"Besides, the person who designed it is fifteen," Ed said. "You're an adult; you should be able to understand it."

_Fifteen?_ Klinger thought faintly, suddenly feeling woefully unaccomplished.

"I don't think you can hold other people to the same standards as yourself and Winry," Mustang said to Ed.

"Oh…" Ed said. "I hadn't thought of it like that…"

Klinger took another look at the blueprint and swallowed his nervousness. He had to start somewhere, right?

"So, is the problem in the…um…auto-mail itself, or the place where it attaches to your leg?" Klinger asked.

"The auto-mail," Ed said, without hesitating. "The part where it attaches to the port, I think."

"Can I take it off so I can look at the inside?" Klinger asked.

Ed nodded, and turned to Mustang. "I can't take it off myself."

Mustang nodded, and Klinger watched as the boy gripped the leg's port, while Mustang took hold of the leg just below the knee.

"One, two, three!" Ed said.

Mustang pulled, and, as Ed winced slightly, the leg detached.

"That always feels weird," the boy complained, rubbing the port and scowling.

Mustang, meanwhile, seemed surprised by the weight of the leg and nearly dropped it. "Geez, Ed, you sure this isn't lead?"

"Nope, just steel."

Mustang carefully handed the leg to Klinger, who was also caught off guard by its weight, and had to stumble backwards just a little bit to keep from falling over. He knew it had to be heavy, but this was ridiculous. "How do you walk with this thing?"

Ed shrugged. "Practice?"

"I don't know when Pierce and Trapper will be back, so if we could do the actual repairs somewhere else…" Mustang prompted.

Klinger took the hint. "My tent's that way, he said, wrapping one arm around the auto-mail and pointing with the other. "I have some tools there, too. Can we wrap this thing in a blanket or something?"

"Good idea," Mustang said with a sharp nod. "Ed, I'll be checking in every hour, just in case something happens."

"I don't need a babysitter," Ed grumbled.

"Ed, you're hardly up for a fight at the moment," Mustang said tiredly. "Let the rest of us help you, please."

Ed scowled, stared intently at the wall, and muttered, "Fine."

Klinger, meanwhile, decided that perhaps it was best to just go with the flow, because he didn't think he had a chance in heck of actually understanding what was going on.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

If he was honest with himself, Pierce was only half-paying attention to the symptom chart in his hands. It wasn't that he didn't care about the patient, but it was difficult to concentrate on his job while his brain was still trying to process everything Roy and Ed had told him the previous evening.

Alchemy…the ability to change matter from one form to another, with nothing more than a drawn circle. And Ed didn't even need that. The possibilities were…staggering, to say the least. As long as he had all the pieces and knew how it was supposed to look, Ed could fix anything—or make anything, as long as he had materials. And Mustang could make fire. By snapping his fingers! He almost couldn't wrap his mind around it.

But there was something bugging him…something tugging at the edge of his consciousness. Something about the explanation didn't add up, and he couldn't figure out what it was…

Sighing, he returned to the chart, and tried to ignore the nagging feeling at the back of his mind. He had just informed Ginger that the patient's symptoms indicated that he would be up to moving if they had to bug out when it hit him.

_"…You can't turn a substance into something that has a completely different composition; you could make sand into glass, but you couldn't make it into iron,"_ Ed had said.

But Pierce remembered the night that Envy had come after him. He'd seen Ed with a knife where his arm should have been. It was the same when Ed had been fighting Envy last night. There had been a knife coming out of his sleeve, not held in his hand, but exactly where his hand should have been. The only possible explanation for that was alchemy—he must have somehow turned his hand into a metal knife. But Ed had said that the new substance had to have similar composition, and flesh wasn't a metal, or even anything close to one. How was that possible?

No matter how hard he tried to find another explanation, he kept coming back to the same one—Ed had to have lied about the rules of alchemy. But why would he do that? Pierce didn't know. But he didn't like the situation one bit. People, or, rather, homunculi, if Ed was telling the truth about that, which Pierce was starting to doubt, were calling him a "sacrifice," and, according to the Amestrians, he was in danger. But now, the information that they had given him might not even be accurate, in which case he was a sitting duck with absolutely no idea what he was up against. Pierce wanted to trust Ed and the other Amestrians, he really did, but he wasn't about to bet his life on the honesty of a group that had already lied to him.

Come lunchtime, he was going to have to talk to Ed.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ed sat in his bed in the Swamp, an open book in his lap. A blanket self-consciously spread over his legs in such a way that it hid the absence of his auto-mail, though he didn't know why he was bothering—the tent was empty.

He was tired. So, so tired. Not just physically, though he probably could have used another nap, but mentally and emotionally as well. He was stuck in a world that wasn't his own, possibly permanently, in danger from the fighting between the Americans and Koreans, as well as Envy, and literally unable to stand on his own.

He really didn't know how this day could possibly get any worse. So why did he have the sinking suspicion that it was about to, anyway?

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The Swamp's door flew open, and Pierce stomped through it.

"You lied," Pierce spat.

"Excuse me?" Ed asked, confusion plain on his face.

"You lied to us about how alchemy works," Pierce accused.

"What do you mean?" Ed asked. "I told you the truth. I mean, I didn't explain everything completely, but what I told you was true!"

"Then how do you explain turning your arm into a knife?" Pierce demanded. "You said that you couldn't transmute one type of material into another type, but you did. So either you were lying, or you can somehow ignore those 'Laws of Alchemy' you're always going on about!"

Ed's eyes widened, and he stared at Pierce. Then, his gaze dropped to the floor, his bangs obscuring his face.

_I knew it! _Pierce thought.

The boy's shoulders began to tremble, and he started make a soft sound that Pierce couldn't quite identify. Pierce's breath caught in his throat. Had he actually managed to make Ed cry?

Then, Ed threw his head back and roared with laughter. Pierce had never seen him laugh so hard. It was loud, too.

At first, Pierce was too surprised to react. But as Ed continued laughing, he started to get annoyed.

"Just what the h*** is so funny?" he asked.

"Geez, sorry," Ed gasped, wiping tears of laughter out of his eyes. "It's just…oh geez…Al is going to love this…"

"Ed?" Pierce ground out.

"Oh, right, the question," Ed said, chuckling once more before taking a deep breath. "I guess I should've expected it earlier. Mustang told me to be careful, but this is what I get for not listening, I guess. I always have to learn everything the hard way, huh?" He was still smiling, but his expression had darkened, and there was a weight to the look in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

Ed looked Pierce in the eye. "I didn't lie," he said. "You can't transmute one type of substance into a different type of substance, at least, not without some kind of amplifier, and I don't have one. Even if I did, I sure wouldn't be using it for something idiotic like making my arm into a knife." He broke off, chuckling.

"Then, how did you…" Pierce began.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ed swore mentally, letting loose a string of curses that would've had Breda flushed with pride, had the dog-phobic soldier been able to hear them.

He'd known that this was coming. He couldn't hide it forever—not living in such close quarters with the doctors. But he was still shaken by their reactions to the farmer who lost his leg. Showing Klinger was one thing. Klinger was practically a stranger—Ed barely knew him, and didn't really care what he thought of him. But the doctors were a different story. Ed liked them. He didn't want them to think less of him because of his body…he wondered if this was what it was like for Alphonse.

Amestris was pretty accepting of auto-mail. It was routine, widespread, even. After Ishbal, half of the country had it, and most people were used to the idea that a person with auto-mail was about as capable as a person without it, at least in most situations. Sure, they asked questions, and got upset about how he was "so young" and how it must be "terribly difficult" for him, but they never actually questioned his abilities. Even those who thought that auto-mail was unnatural respected that a person with it was just about as "disabled" as they had been before the loss of their limb.

The Americans were different. For them, the loss of a limb meant hobbling around on a piece of wood or metal that resembled a leg in size and shape, but not flexibility, or learning to do things one-handed. In the future, they might develop better technology, but in the meantime, the loss of a limb was as disabling to them as the loss of a sense. Even knowing that, with automail, he could move as freely as anyone else, they still might not be able to think of him as a whole person.

But he would have to accept that, because if they believed he was lying about the laws of alchemy, they might also believe that what he'd said about human transmutation was untrue. And that was too much of a risk. He told himself that it didn't matter what they thought of him, as long as they were safe.

He'd always been better at lying to other people than to himself.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Pierce stared at the boy, awaiting a response.

Ed lowered his gaze, a slight frown on his lips. "Solemn," that was the word for his expression.

"Alchemy is an exact science," he began slowly.

As he spoke, twin, white-gloved hands rose to the collar of his jacket in a movement that seemed practiced. Pierce watched in silence, wondering what he was doing.

"It's dangerous, as well."

The jacket was secured at Ed's neck by a metal clasp. A look of concentration settled on his face as he fumbled with the clasp, his fingers moving slowly, almost clumsily. Were his hands shaking?

"Alchemy is not forgiving of mistakes."

But why take off his jacket now? The movement was too deliberate to be a casual reaction to the heat—not that it was hot to begin with, the day was cool, and a light breeze was drifting through the tent.

"If you break its rules, you pay for it."

Finally, the clasp snapped open and white-gloved hands pulled the two sides of the jacket back. As he watched, Pierce suddenly realized he'd never seen Ed wearing anything without a high collar.

"The laws of alchemy apply to everyone, and especially to me," Ed continued softly.

Jagged, pale scars peeked out from under the left—or, was it right, since it would be Ed's right— side of the tank top's collar, along with something else, shiny and grey, almost like…metal. Pierce inhaled sharply. Was that a bolt in his collarbone?

"The fact that I can transmute a metal blade out of my arm isn't because of any ability I have to get around the Laws."

The jacket slid soundlessly off of the boy's shoulders, almost completely unaided, revealing, on one side, a muscular arm, pale compared to Ed's tanned face…and on the other, what looked like a very elaborate piece of armor. He removed the jacket completely and held it in hands still covered by twin gloves, his eyes downcast, almost closed.

"Actually, the only reason I can do it is because I didn't follow them as carefully as I should have."

You could see how tightly he gripped the coat, you could even hear it, in the sound of the fabric of the gloves rubbing against that of the jacket. Ed's eyes were closed now, his eyebrows knotted together above them. His mouth was a tight line. If Pierce hadn't known better, he would've guessed the boy was preparing himself for a blow, or some sort of punishment.

Pierce traced the strange armor with his eyes, trying to understand why Ed would keep it hidden, or, for that matter, why he would have something so heavy and cumbersome bolted to his skeleton. Or, why he'd have anything bolted to his skeleton, for that matter—it would put an incredible amount of stress on the bones, and hurt like h*** to boot. The armor was on the same shoulder that had been bothering Ed during the rain, and he had said that came from an accident he'd had as a child. What sort of accident forced a person—a child, no less—to get armor?

Unless…the armor was nearly identical in size and shape to Ed's other arm, not larger, like armor covering an arm should be. And the mechanism at the elbow was off—if there was a flesh arm inside of the armor, even bending the arm slightly should be impossible without bruising or breaking the limb, and yet it was bent at a near ninety degree angle right now. Ed's grip on his coat changed slightly, and the sound of metal grinding against metal filled the tent.

Ed looked up, and stared Pierce in the eyes. "I tried to get around the laws, and I paid for it, using the same kind of currency you Americans are using to pay for Korea," he said, his voice rough. "It seems as though, anymore, the only currency worth anything is blood."

Pierce's eyes widened as he stared at the most beautiful, well-made prosthetic he had ever seen, attached to the shoulder of a fifteen-year-old. He was sure he was going to be sick.

"You had…an accident…when you were a kid?" he finally choked out.

"Sure as heck wasn't on purpose," Ed snapped, moving to replace his coat.

"Wait, not yet, I want to look at it…how far ahead of us are you guys in prosthetics?" Pierce breathed, separating himself from the knowledge that the kid had to lose his real arm to get the metal one and simply focusing on its smooth, natural movements and efficient design.

"Pretty far, considering what I've seen of your stuff," Ed said dismissively, putting on his jacket. "You guys seriously need to work on your prosthetics. I mean, have you ever tried to get around on a wooden leg? It's not easy."

"Look, we do the best that we can," Pierce huffed automatically, before his brain had fully processed the boy's words. Then, it did, and the sick feeling in his stomach got even worse. "…Leg?"

"D***," Ed swore.

Pierce nearly stopped breathing at the confirmation. "Your leg, too? What happened?"

"I told you, alchemy can be dangerous," Ed growled. "Now, can we _please_ move on?"

"Can I look at it?" Pierce asked, his desire for knowledge warring with the intense discomfort he felt at knowing about this at all. It was truly none of his business, after all. He could like Ed all he wanted, but he was only an ally, a friend, but not really a close one. Why should he know any of this?

"You'll have to find Klinger and Mustang," Ed said. "Envy busted it, and Mustang's got Klinger doing repairs. I think they're still in his tent, but I'm not sure."

"Then, it's…" Pierce began.

"Not here," Ed confirmed, moving his blanket to reveal his legs, one of which was little more than a stump with his pants leg tied off at the end of it.

"But…they move, just like actual limbs…how?" Pierce breathed, a part of him aching to find Klinger and Mustang and get a look at the leg.

The marvelous, potentially groundbreaking prosthetic that could change life for American amputees if Pierce could just look at it for long enough to get a basic understanding of it.

Which belonged to Ed, the endearingly stubborn and oddly wise fifteen-year-old who he'd come to think of as a friend, who had it because he _was missing his actual leg_.

He swore to himself. This was just confusing.

"My auto-mail is connected to my nerve endings, and powered by the electrical energy that transmits nerve impulses," Ed explained, snapping Pierce back into reality. "I don't really understand it all that well; you'd have to ask the person who made it about the specifics."

"Wait, they're connected to your nerves?" Pierce asked, confused. "Wouldn't anesthetic interfere with that?"

"That's why they didn't use it," Ed said brusquely. "I was awake."

"You were _awake_?" Pierce asked, beginning to feel a bit hysterical. "How…"

"Pure stubbornness, mostly," Ed said, offering Pierce an obviously forced smile.

"That shouldn't have even been possible…" Pierce breathed.

Ed shrugged.

"Don't just shrug!" Pierce practically exploded. Yep, definitely hysterical. "How old were you?"

"Eleven."

"But you joined the military when you were twelve," Pierce said slowly.

"Yeah, the rehab took a year," Ed said. "Usually, it takes three, but I pushed myself."

"No kidding," Pierce breathed. "What would be worth…?"

"Remember how I said I owed Mustang?" Ed asked, eyebrow raised. When Pierce nodded, wondering how the kid expected him to forget an outburst like that, Ed continued. "He suggested that there might be a way to fix this," he held up his arm, "and what happened to Al, through alchemy. He told us that if I joined the military, I'd have access to research that might help. If it wasn't for him, it might have been years before I finally got off my a** and tried to do something to make it right."

"Was he right?" Pierce asked quietly. "Could you use alchemy to get your limbs back?"

"Maybe," Ed said. "I'm not sure if there's a way to do it without giving something else up. But I have to keep trying. For Al, too."

"…What happened to him?" Pierce asked, wondering if he really wanted to know. The more he learned about it, the more gruesome alchemy seemed.

"It's kind of complicated," Ed hedged. "But he's worse off than me."

_Did he lose all of his limbs or something? _Pierce wondered. Honestly, at this point, he just wanted to forget that he'd ever heard of alchemy.

Of course, that was exactly when the P.A. system crackled to life.

"Attention, all personnel," the tinny-sounding voice boomed. "We are bugging out. I repeat, we are bugging out. Please pack all of your belongings and report to your commanding officers immediately."

"This day just keeps getting better, doesn't it?" Ed muttered darkly.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

_A/N: I'm really not being deliberately sadistic to the characters. Really! Anyone believe me? Come on, anyone? Anyhow, thanks for reading, and please leave me a review if you have time. _


	19. In Great Condition

_A/N: Sorry for the wait. My inspiration has been dying a slow and painful death, which it tends to do over breaks, but I finally managed to get it to cooperate long enough to write this chapter. It was an uphill battle, though…Don't mind me, just read the chapter. By the way, none of the automail stuff is canon—I just made my best guesses about what sort of stuff might be in his leg and how it might end up damaged. Enjoy the chapter!_

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 18: In Great Condition

"**For your condition you are in great condition." – Dr. Hawkeye Pierce, M*A*S*H**

Looking up from Ed's automail, Klinger swore as the P.A. system's message echoed across the camp.

"How are you—" Mustang started.

"I'm nowhere close," Klinger said.

After studying the diagram Ed had given him as carefully as possible, and comparing it to the actual interior of the leg, Klinger had managed to find the problem—the rod that ran through the center of the auto-mail had cracked near the knee joint. A piece of it had splintered off, rattling around inside of the leg and eventually slicing through a number of important wires, all near the port where the prosthetic connected to Ed's leg. However, the spring had become jammed between a pair of plates near the port and Klinger wasn't sure how to remove it without damaging the leg further, or how to return it to its place in the pipe without welding tools. The damaged wires were also near the core of the leg. In other words, it was likely that if Klinger wanted to fix the leg, he'd have to take it apart first. And he couldn't do that in the time they had before they bugged out.

Mustang's face was a study in controlled frustration, but he did control it. "I understand. Can you fit it into your luggage?"

"I think so," Klinger said, figuring that getting rid of a few dresses would be worth avoiding Mustang's wrath. There was a truly frightening look in the man's dark eyes, and the way he was rubbing his thumb against his pointer and middle fingers, almost as if he were about to snap his fingers, was somehow ominous, although Klinger couldn't explain quite why it seemed that way.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ed bit back another stream of foul language. Swearing wouldn't actually accomplish anything, he knew that. But Trapper and Frank would be back any minute, and he would have to "bug out" along with the rest of the camp, and he was still missing a leg. There was no way that Klinger could have fixed it this quickly—even Winry at her best took at least half a day, and she was the one who'd built the thing in the first place.

He had to do something. He just didn't know what.

"_Stand up and walk. Move forward. At least you have two strong legs to get you there."_ That's what he'd told Rose in Lior.

But he didn't have two strong legs. He couldn't move forward.

_No! _he thought, almost reflexively refusing to give up. There had to be something he could do. There was always something.

His gaze landed on a wooden footstool beside Frank's bed. He remembered Frank buying it from a traveling merchant a few weeks back. It was a serviceable stool, worth less than Frank had paid for it, but it was sturdy, and the wood it was made of was decently solid.

Ed allowed himself a small smile as the beginnings of an idea formed in his thoughts.

_Move forward_, he thought. And he did.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Roy Mustang ran across the compound, dodging and weaving between the crowds of enlisted men and nurses who were preparing for the retreat.

He was not panicking. He was a seasoned combat veteran, experienced and cool under pressure. He did not panic.

That said, he was about as close to it as he had ever been. None of his experience had really prepared him for this.

After all, his military training hadn't really encompassed the question of how to handle a retreat in foreign territory, together with a mixture of foreign military and medical personnel, when you were being watched by an almost-but-not-quite un-killable enemy who was just waiting for you to slip up—oh, yes, and one of your subordinates was missing a leg and didn't want the foreign military to find out, and you've realized that you've more-or-less gone soft and don't want them to find out either, if he doesn't want them to. Not even Ishbal had prepared him for a situation like this.

He ran faster, praying to a deity that he wasn't sure existed that something, _anything_, would actually go right.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Pierce watched in stunned silence as Ed hopped awkwardly across the tent, dropping to his knees—no, his knee, he only had one—in front of Frank's wooden stool. He briefly used it to steady himself, then lifted his hand from its surface and clapped.

As the boy's white-gloved hands parted and came to rest on the stool's surface, blue sparks danced across its surface, reshaping it…until the wooden stool was a wooden leg. He watched as Ed smiled triumphantly, then untied and rolled up his mostly-empty pants leg.

"Hey, you have any belts?" Ed asked, glancing over his shoulder at Pierce.

Pierce nodded, fished a belt out of his foot locker, and tossed it to Ed, who caught it and started trying to loop it around both the stump of his actual leg and the wooden one.

Honestly, Pierce was beginning to wonder if the last twenty-four hours had just been some sort of insane dream. First alchemy, and now this? It all seemed so surreal…

And yet, looking back at the time that the Amestrians had spent at the 4077th, Pierce was suddenly painfully aware of every single hint he'd had at the nature of Ed's limbs, and their connection to Ed's enlistment.

He should have figured it out. The clues were all there.

_"Geez, did it have to be _that_ arm?" Mustang complained, rubbing his chin._

_"When Mustang invited me to join the military, I was…I was in a really bad place," Ed explained. I wanted to give up. Mustang was the one that convinced me to keep going. I know it doesn't make sense to you, but being in the military…gives me hope. The research I'm doing is important. I need to figure out how to undo a mistake I made when I was younger, and being in the military is the only way I can do it."_

_"Had an accident when I was a kid," Ed muttered. "Rain makes it hurt. Going to get food now." _

_Ed caught his hand. His grip was surprisingly strong, and surprisingly cold. His hand was devoid of warmth, like ice or maybe metal._

_"Do you mind if I sit this one out?" Ed asked, as Pierce and Margaret prepared to amputate a Korean farmer's injured leg._

_Ed's uniform was in shreds as a result of his fight with Envy, and Pierce thought he saw metal through one of the rips._

_When Pierce asked Roy why Ed's codename would be "Fullmetal", Mustang replied with "Because the Fuhrer has a twisted sense of humor."_

The tray that looked like it was bending in Ed's hands when he was angry probably had been—steel was tougher than aluminum. Ed's uneven, heavy footsteps were the result of one of his legs being heavy steel. His codename, Fullmetal, was from his prosthetics. It all made so much sense. True, he'd never seen prosthetics like Ed's before, or even had reason to believe they might exist. But they weren't so implausible that he couldn't have guessed that they might be a possibility. So why hadn't he figured it out sooner?

And why did he feel like he was still missing something?

Then, another memory filled his mind, this one of the time that Ed had warned him about human transmutation.

_"If you're lucky, you'll just end up short some limbs or missing internal organs. That circle is not something to be messed around with. If you activate it, you'll regret it as long as you live."_

_Short some limbs…_Was it possible that human transmutation was the mistake that Ed and his brother had made? Mustang had said Ed's mother had died when he and Al were very young. What kid would pass up a chance to see their dead mother again? Especially if they thought they would succeed where others failed.

_"…We have a similar story back home. The hero who flew on wings of wax, but when he strayed too close to the sun, the wax melted and he fell to earth. He tried to trespass in the realm of God and he paid the price." _

_"The…accident…that I mentioned?" Ed started hesitantly. "It was…well, it was sort of the result of trying something I should've known was impossible," Ed said, breaking off eye contact. "But I tried it anyway…and, well, it sort of blew up in my face. Our faces, really. I managed to get Al involved, too."_

Was that why Ed was so desperate to keep others from attempting human transmutation? Because he knew, firsthand, how badly it could backfire? It was definitely possible. But Ed had seemed uncomfortable enough with admitting the truth about his limbs. If Pierce asked about human transmutation, he doubted he'd get an answer.

Not to mention the difficulty Pierce was having with just what he'd already found out. Ed was missing a leg and an arm. He had been, all this time, and Pierce hadn't even noticed. The stubborn boy who he'd seen as someone who stood on his own two feet actually relied on a painful-to-install mechanical prosthetic just to walk. If he'd been American, and using American prosthetics, he probably wouldn't have even been allowed to join the army.

A single accident, failed human transmutation or not, had resulted in Ed losing two limbs. Pierce couldn't imagine how painful that would have been…in fact, it was a miracle Ed hadn't bled to death before he could even consider prosthetics. And Ed had been missing these limbs since he was _eleven_. Since the same age as Pierce had been when he finished elementary school, for crying out loud. He'd thought Ed was strange since the moment he'd met the boy, but now, he found himself marveling at the fact that he wasn't seriously disturbed. There were people who would have gone crazy. Actually, he couldn't be sure that Ed wasn't one of those, and just hiding it well.

He glanced across the tent, at Ed, who was currently tightening the belt around his newly-made prosthetic leg. Giving it one final tug, the boy smiled in triumph, and then proceeded to try to roll down his pants leg to cover it. Given the tightness of Ed's black pants, and the fact that they were made of leather, Pierce thought that would be rather difficult. Still, within minutes, Ed had managed to pull the leather down over the wooden leg. Another satisfied smile graced the blond's lips as he pulled on his customary black combat boot, then used Frank's bed to pull himself up. His stance looked uncomfortable, and he was probably tremendously off-balance. Still, though, he was standing, and Pierce figured that, in and of itself, was a decent accomplishment.

In the end, it seemed like the more Pierce found out about Ed, the less he knew what to make of him.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Figures," Trapper muttered to himself as he heard the bug-out announcement.

Things had officially progressed far beyond his normal standards of weird, and, at this point, he almost expected them to get worse. His tent-mates were _alchemists_, for crying out loud! A few days ago, he would have said that was impossible, but now…

There was a freaky immortal monster after him to open some sort of gate, which Trapper knew was a bad thing—Ed didn't scare easily, but Ed was clearly scared of whatever this 'Gate' was. And now that Ed had made sure he didn't open it, the aforementioned immortal monster was planning to kill him, without a second thought. And the only reason that he hadn't done so already was because of Ed, as his teenaged tent-mate turned out to be able to make walls out of dirt by _clapping his hands_.

He didn't know how it was possible, and, honestly, while he was curious, he was perfectly willing to leave a few of his questions unanswered if it meant he was less likely to die a death of the horribly painful variety. There were things that were worth taking risks for, and things that weren't. He was willing to go to the front to help patients, but he wasn't willing to put himself in the line of fire because he was curious. Pierce, on the other hand, was perfectly willing to take risks in the pursuit of knowledge, which was what worried him. But, then again, according to Envy, they were in plenty of danger already, so maybe it wouldn't matter one way or the other what Pierce did.

Maybe.

All of this ran through his head as he headed back to the Swamp. Fortunately, most of his stuff was already "packed", which is to say that he used his foot locker to store everything on a regular basis, so all he really had to do was strip his bed and put away the magazines he'd been reading before dinner last night.

Last night, when alchemy had still been a myth and no one had been trying to kill him, suddenly seemed so long ago.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Margaret had always thought it important to be ready for emergencies, so, not only had she practiced packing for a bug-out many times, but she'd also forced her nurses to do so. While there were still a few mishaps, like one of the new recruits taking fifteen minutes to painstakingly fold her cotton blouses before Margaret noticed and yelled at her to get a move on, the nurses had loaded their packed suitcases onto jeeps about a half-hour after the bug-out announcement. The rest of the camp, however, was apparently less organized, so, after fifteen minutes of waiting for further orders, she decided to seek Colonel Blake out herself.

A few yards from Blake's office, she caught sight of Pierce and Ed, who seemed to be in a hurry. At first, she just felt something was off, but couldn't tell what it was. Then, she noticed it—Ed wasn't really running, but rather stumbling along with such a pronounced limp that she was amazed he was even moving forward. He wasn't bending one leg at all, and he kept rubbing it and wincing. Margaret thought she could hear him muttering obscenities under his breath. Also, he was out of uniform, instead wearing an almost-completely-black ensemble that she'd never seen before.

Pierce, meanwhile, looked like he'd just given someone a birthday invitation, only to have them rip it in half and throw the pieces in his face, all before threatening to kill him. He kept glancing at Ed in a way that Margaret could only describe as shocked and almost incredulous. He was also carrying at least one suitcase that definitely didn't belong to him—Margaret guessed it was Ed's. Judging by way he was dragging it, she also guessed it was fairly heavy.

As she neared the office, she also caught sight of a Jeep, parked nearby. Colonel Mustang was helping Klinger load a suitcase into it.

Klinger's expression was unusually serious. Actually, Margaret couldn't remember ever seeing such an expression on his face before. Usually, he treated even serious matters irreverently. Even more surprisingly, he was in uniform—well, besides that garish sweater. Still, it was a definite improvement. _The bug-out must have made him realize that this isn't a game_, she thought, with some satisfaction.

Colonel Mustang, on the other hand, was more disheveled than Margaret had seen him since he'd arrived at the 4077th. His uniform looked as if it had been slept in, and there were streaks of black marking it that looked almost like ash. Dark circles hung below his eyes, and thin lines of worry creased his forehead. His mouth was twisted in a preoccupied frown.

Then, the Colonel caught sight of Ed. His expression immediately relaxed as he exclaimed, "Fullmetal! Thank heaven!"

_Fullmetal? _Margaret wondered. Was that some sort of nickname?

"You're not supposed to call me that here and I don't believe there is such a place," Ed retorted. "I didn't think you'd be worried."

"I wasn't," Mustang said coolly, seeming to regain his composure.

"'Course not," Breda's voice, laced with sarcasm, put in. Margaret was surprised to see him sitting in the front seat of the Jeep, arm draped over the headrest.

"Breda!" Mustang snapped.

"Whatever you say, sir," Breda drawled.

"Never mind that, how did you…" Mustang trailed off, but Margaret saw understanding light in Ed's eyes as the boy ran over to Mustang and whispered something in his ear.

In response, Mustang turned wide eyes on Ed, who shrugged.

"Stop shrugging, d*** it!" Pierce snapped at the boy.

Mustang's expression turned confused, as Ed stared at the ground and mumbled something. In response, Mustang stared at Pierce, then Ed, then Pierce again, before rubbing his temples. Pierce, meanwhile, was still looking at Ed, a troubled expression on his face. Margaret was now extremely curious. If only she knew what they were saying!

"Ed whispered something about a footstool and one of Pierce's belts to Mustang," a voice said. "I didn't hear the rest."

"Corporal O'Reilly!" Margaret said, almost jumping in surprise at the bespectacled corporal's sudden appearance behind her. "Don't sneak up on me!"

"I didn't mean to, sir," Radar said.

Margaret glared at him.

"I mean, um, ma'am," Radar stammered.

"Does Colonel Blake have orders for us yet?" Margaret asked.

"He's still trying to make sure all the equipment gets loaded into the Jeeps" Radar reported. "But he'll be done soon. Probably, though, he'll just tell us to head for the caves."

"Thank you, Corporal," Margaret said.

"You're welcome, sir," Radar answered.

Margaret allowed herself a sigh of exasperation. Did anyone at the 4077th understand proper military procedure besides herself and Frank? And, speaking of Frank, where was he?

Just then, he ran up to them, suitcases in tow. "I can't find my stool!" he exclaimed.

Captain McIntyre was close behind him, a look of exhaustion on his face. "And believe me, he looked _everywhere_."

"We already loaded it onto the Jeeps for you," Mustang said smoothly. "I'm sorry, I thought someone had told you."

"Oh," Frank said slowly.

Was it Margaret's imagination, or did Ed look just a little bit sheepish?

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Roy sighed as Frank started demanding to know the exact whereabouts of his precious stool.

"I told you already, it's somewhere safe," Roy repeated.

"Where?" Frank demanded

"I don't see why it matters!" Ed interjected. "Whaddya need a stool for right now anyway?"

"I don't like not knowing where things that belong to me are!" Frank insisted.

"Geez, you've got to be the second-most annoying person I've ever met!" Roy groaned, running a hand through his hair.

"Second?" Trapper asked. "You actually know someone more annoying than _him_?" He pointed at Frank, who shoved his finger away.

Roy smirked. "Frank hasn't shoved a single photograph in my face since I met him."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Frank asked.

"Nothing…" Roy said, trailing off.

Geez, he missed Maes. As much as he joked about the man being annoying, at this point, he'd do just about anything to have another photo of Elysia two inches from his nose.

"Am I third?" Ed asked, breaking into his thoughts.

"Huh?" Roy asked, still lost in thought.

"Well, if Brigadier General Hughes is first and Frank's second, I'd be third, right?" Ed went on. "We both know I annoy the heck out of you."

"True enough," Roy said, but there wasn't much feeling behind it. Ed did annoy him, but he was used to it now. He was fond enough of the kid that, while Ed was definitely troublesome, he wasn't really that annoying. Actually, that was how Hughes had been, too.

"…he actually used someone's rank!" Frank gasped.

Ed's expression settled into a surly frown, and he stuck his hands in his pockets. "I respect people who deserve respect," he muttered, avoiding Frank's gaze.

"And I don't deserve respect?" Frank asked.

"If you have to ask, then there's no hope," Pierce said, putting a hand on Frank's shoulder.

Roy smiled despite himself. Hughes would've liked Pierce, and Trapper. Actually, he would have liked everyone at the M*A*S*H, even Frank. Roy was willing to bet that, within a few days, Hughes would have gotten Frank to loosen up. He would have admired Trapper's pictures of his daughters and showed him ones of Elysia in return. He and Pierce definitely would have had a drinking contest, though Roy wasn't actually sure who would come out on top. And he would have definitely tried to take Radar under his wing.

He sighed softly as Trapper's voice broke through his thoughts.

"Hey, there's Henry!" Trapper exclaimed.

"About time!" Margaret huffed.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Henry was not happy. And not just about the bug-out, although that was definitely bad too. It was more about the fact that things were going on in his camp that he didn't know about.

Now, he'd be the first to admit that this wouldn't be the first time he didn't know what was going on in his camp. But before, nothing had really come of it. Well, there was that one time his desk disappeared, and the time Klinger tried to desert on a hang-glider…but still, no one had gotten hurt.

He stole another glance at Ed. Saying that the kid looked like Death warmed over was being generous. His eyes were unfocused and barely open, he had a developing bruise on his cheek and a bandage on his temple, and he was limping so heavily that the other Amestrians were taking turns keeping him from falling over.

Henry knew he wasn't the best CO, or even a very good one, but he'd be danged if he was going to let people get hurt on his watch.

He approached Mustang, who wasn't looking too awake himself took the man by the arm, before pulling him away from the other Amestrians and the doctors.

"Henry?" Mustang asked, almost suspiciously.

"Mustang, what in Sam Hill is going on?" Henry asked.

"Sam…Hill?" Mustang asked slowly.

"It's an expression," Henry explained. "Now answer the question."

"What are you talking about?" Mustang asked, his expression flat.

"The kid looks like h***, Mustang," Henry spat. "Now, I'm pretty sure that none of my people would do that to a kid, even one as rude as Ed. And you certainly seem to trust your people, not to mention the fact that you all seem pretty dang worried about him. But injuries like that," he continued, gesturing toward Ed, "do not just come out of nowhere. What is going on?"

"It was the camp dog," Mustang said evenly. "It went crazy and tried to attack him. He fell over trying to get away from it, because it was dark out and he couldn't see clearly."

"That dog couldn't hurt him if he wanted to," Henry said. "It's half-starved!"

"It's for your own safety—" Mustang started.

"Mustang, tell me what is going on!" Henry said flatly.

"It won't do you any good to know," Mustang said. "It would probably put you in more danger."

"_More_ danger?" Henry demanded.

"Look, I can't explain, not now," Mustang said, looking around suspiciously. "I'm almost positive that we're being watched."

Henry raised an eyebrow. "You're being kinda paranoid, you know."

Mustang chuckled wearily. "What was it that Frank said a few weeks ago? Oh, yes…'Even paranoid people have enemies.'"

"What kind of enemies?" Henry asked. "At least tell me what we're up against…are they Korean? Amestrian? What do they want from us?"

"What part of 'We can't talk about this here' was unclear to you?"

"I don't like this," Henry said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm not asking you to like it," Mustang said. "I'm asking you to trust me. I'll say this much—you are in danger, and you wouldn't be if we hadn't come here. But we've been protecting you and the rest of the M*A*S*H up until now and we aren't planning to stop."

"Fine," Henry said. "But this discussion isn't over."

"Of course it's not," Mustang said, sounding more tired than ever.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

_A/N: Another chapter, completed! Whoo-hoo! I know it's not my best chapter, but I did at least manage to sneak in some angst. I'm planning on watching more M*A*S*H this Tuesday to get things in the inspiration department up and running again, so hopefully the new chapter will come soon. Thanks for hanging in there, and, as always, I'll ask you to take the time to leave a review if you enjoyed this. Even just a "You don't totally suck" would be appreciated. Thanks!_


	20. One Way Ticket to the Battlefield

_A/N: Okay, yeah, I know this one took forever. I'm sorry, and I hope it ends up being worth the wait. _

_Oh, yeah, I almost forgot to mention this last chapter, but there's an anime reference in the previous chapter—I wonder if anyone picked up on it. You can go back and look for it, if you want. Here are your hints—it's from the first episode of a series that aired on Cartoon Network a while back. Oh, and miladyRanger, it's one of the ones you've seen. Good luck!_

_Just as a reminder, everything still belongs to its original creator, and the character's views of each other, religion, and various other things reflect their views, not mine._

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 19: One-Way Ticket to the Battlefield

"**The four of us all hold a one-way ticket to the battlefield. There will be no going back if we fail. And, as such, I have one order, and you **_**will**_** obey it. 'Do not die!' Is that clear?"**** –Roy Mustang**

"Okay, time to go, people!" Henry shouted.

The row of Jeeps that formed the front of their lose formation began to move forward as their engines woke with coughs of smoke and stuttering growls. En masse, the personnel of the M*A*S*H followed, like a wave of army green, interrupted only by a few specks of royal blue in the form of Amestrian uniforms, the faded terrycloth of the doctor's bathrobes, and Klinger's bright pink sweater.

It would have made an excellent photograph, Father Mulcahy decided, especially with the Korean dust swirling around their feet. Then again, within an hour, that same dust would be absolutely everywhere, and it would take weeks of showers just to get rid of all of it.

The fighting was getting closer. He could hear it now, like distant thunder. Every once in a while, something would explode with enough force to shake the ground, and Mulcahy would feel the tremor race through the ground and into his bones.

These times made him wonder if this was really where God—or he himself—wanted him to be. He wasn't cut out for war. But he had a responsibility to the others in his unit. He was the only representative of religion besides the odd refugee village priest that some of these men had access to. He stayed with dying patients when the doctors and nurses were too tired to do so, and he gave them Last Rites when they passed. If he tried to get reassigned, somewhere farther from the front, who would do those things? He'd be replaced eventually, he was sure, but how long would it take? Weeks? Months? And for that amount of time, no one at the 4077th would be doing what he'd done. He couldn't just abandon the soldiers—or the doctors—like that. He realized that, without really realizing it, he'd already decided—the only ways he'd be leaving the 4077th were being reassigned against his will, dying, or the war ending.

It was a bit of a sobering thought. Especially with the sounds of battle getting closer by the moment. He wondered if anyone else was feeling the same way he was right now…

The sound of extremely loud cursing broke him out of his thoughts. A few yards ahead of him, Falman, the gray-haired Amestrian whose name he'd finally learned, was helping Ed to his feet.

As Ed stood up and continued to walk, Mulcahy noticed that something was…off. Ed's gait was less even than usual; he wasn't bending his knees, just swinging one rigid leg forward, shifting his weight onto it, and then swinging the other forward. His arms were extended straight out from his shoulders, and he swung them back and forth as he tried to keep his balance.

Honestly, his first thought was that Ed was drunk. It wasn't exactly an unlikely possibility. Pierce and Trapper had a still in their tent, for Heaven's sake. He could have found a glass of the clear alcohol the still produced and mistaken it for water. Or, Pierce and Trapper could have goaded him into trying some. For that matter, he could have tried it himself, out of curiosity. It wasn't as if the doctors kept very good watch over the stuff. And, at Ed's size and age, even a few sips of homemade alcohol could raise the boy's blood alcohol content enough to make him a little tipsy.

But there was a preciseness to the clumsy, rolling movements of Ed's gait that made Mulcahy unsure. His movements seemed too planned, too exact for an inebriated kid.

Curious, he quickened his pace and caught up with Ed and Falman.

"Are you all right?" he asked Ed.

Ed nodded quickly, moments before his foot caught on a rock and sent him sprawling forward. This time, another hand reached out and caught the boy. Mulcahy turned, startled, and met Colonel Mustang's eyes.

"It's a sin to lie to a priest, you know," Mustang said as he helped Ed regain his balance.

"Since when have I cared?" Ed muttered. "You know how I feel about religion."

Mulcahy, remembering their first meeting and Ed's utter lack of interest in religious services of any kind, thought he had some idea as well.

"Even so, would you mind telling me what happened?" he asked carefully.

Ed scowled at him and said nothing.

"The camp dog decided last night that he really didn't like Ed," Falman spoke up. "It ended badly for Ed."

For the first time, Mulcahy noticed exactly how pale Ed was. Normally, he had at least a faint tan, but his complexion was now practically colorless, making the bags under his eyes stand out like smudges of charcoal on an otherwise untouched canvas. There was a bandage, only partly hidden by his bangs, taped to his forehead, and the beginnings of a bruise purpling his left cheek.

"Did you have him tested for rabies?" Mulcahy asked, concerned. "What about the dog? Were you able to catch it?"

"The dog wasn't rabid," Mustang said flatly.

"But then, why would it attack Ed?" Mulcahy asked.

"Dogs just seem to like jumping on me," Ed said shrugging. "This one just put a little more effort into it than Alexander or any of the other dogs that seemed to enjoy doing it."

"Pierce and Trapper checked you over, at least, right?" Mulcahy asked.

"Yep," Ed confirmed, taking another precarious step. "They were the ones who bandaged me up." He glanced at Mulcahy, a single eyebrow raised. "What do you care, anyhow?"

"God cares about all of His children, and so do I," Mulcahy answered, almost without thinking. It was how he'd been trained to answer such questions.

Ed harrumphed softly and continued walking. "I told you, I don't believe in that sort of thing."

"You don't have to believe in it for it to be true," Mulcahy said. "People didn't even know what gravity was for hundreds of years, but that didn't mean it didn't exist."

"I'm not going to argue with you," Ed said. "It would be a waste of energy. Can we agree to disagree?"

"If we must," Mulcahy agreed reluctantly.

To be honest, he didn't want to give up on Ed. It broke his heart to see someone so young adopting such a skeptical attitude. His time at the M*A*S*H had taught him nothing if not that some people had beliefs that they simply were not willing to change, but it still upset him that Ed almost didn't seem to believe in anything.

"I'm impressed," Mustang put in. "Most people don't last that long in an argument with Ed."

"You have long arguments with him all the time," Trapper, who was a few steps ahead of them, said, a question in his tone.

"That's different," Mustang said.

"How so?" Mulcahy asked.

"What the Colonel's trying to avoid saying is that he's just as stubborn as Ed is," Falman said, a smile playing on his lips.

"I am not!"

"Name one thing you've given up on, Colonel," Falman challenged breezily. "Just one."

"I gave up on hoping that the military's coffee would get better," Mustang said.

"One important thing, then," Falman amended.

Mustang glared at Falman and grumbled something incoherent as Ed and Trapper laughed.

Ed nearly tripped again, but both Falman and Mustang steadied him this time.

"Ed, this isn't really working," Mustang said, almost gently.

"It's working fine," Ed grumbled. "I'm just a little off-balance, that's all. I'll get used to it after a while."

"Used to what?" Trapper wanted to know.

"I refuse to have that conversation unless I get to sleep first," Ed stated.

"What conversation?" Trapper asked, sounding as confused as Mulcahy felt.

"Never mind," Ed said.

"Give him a break, Trap," Pierce, who Mulcahy hadn't noticed beside Trapper, said. "He's tired."

"So, you're finally talking again," Trapper said. "You gonna tell me what was up earlier?"

"Nope!" Pierce said, plastering a goofy smile onto his face.

"Well, why not?" Trapper asked.

"'Cause I don't feel like it," Pierce practically chirped.

"You know, whenever you get this happy, it usually means that someone around here is about to get really _not_ happy," Trapper said suspiciously.

"No, it doesn't," Pierce said, still grinning.

"HOW DID THAT GET THERE?" Frank's voice rang out over the crowd.

"SHHH!" Margaret exclaimed. "DO YOU WANT EVERYONE IN KOREA TO KNOW OUR POSITION?"

"BUT SOMEONE PUT RAW EGGS IN THE POCKETS OF MY JACKET!" Frank moaned loudly.

"Not always, at least," Pierce added as Trapper, Falman and Ed burst into laughter, Ed laughing so hard that he nearly fell again.

"How did you do that without him noticing?" Ed asked between laughs, his tone somewhere between admiration and disbelief.

"Kid, you could drive a tank through the Swamp without Frank noticing if Hot Lips is around," Pierce said with a snicker.

"How long do you think it'll take for him to figure out it was you?" Trapper asked.

"Oh, about three seconds…" Pierce said evenly.

Ed started counting under his breath. "Three…two…one…"

"PIERCE!" Frank roared.

"See?" Pierce said.

Mulcahy sighed as he watched Frank storm through the crowd.

"Frank, you're going the wrong direction," Pierce said patiently. "The caves are that way. You're going back toward camp."

"WHY ARE THERE EGGS IN MY POCKETS?" Frank demanded.

"Don't you think you should be talking to a doctor about that?" Pierce asked. "Oh, wait…I am a doctor. Carry on."

"I'm serious, Pierce," Frank snapped. "I want an explanation."

"And I want a million dollars, but you don't see me asking you for it," Pierce answered.

"Pierce!"

"I thought everyone could use a laugh," Pierce said with a shrug.

"So you admit it was you!"

"What was me?"

"The eggs!"

"The ones we had for breakfast?" Pierce asked innocently.

"No, the ones in my pockets!" Frank burst out.

"Why would you put eggs in your pockets? Wouldn't they break?"

"I didn't put eggs in my pockets, you did!"

Pierce turned his pockets inside out. "There aren't any eggs in my pockets. What are you talking about?"

"You didn't put them in your pockets, you put them in my pockets!" Frank said, exasperated.

"Why would I put perfectly good eggs in _your _pockets?"

"To humiliate me!"

Pierce made a 'tsking' sound. "I think you've gotten paranoid, Frank."

Frank let out a scream of frustration, turned on his heel, and stalked back off toward Margaret.

As soon as Frank had disappeared back into the crowd, Ed started laughing again. "That was great!"

"I try," Pierce said with a smile.

"We could use a little laughter around here, huh?" Falman observed as another distant explosion sent tremors through the ground.

"No kidding," Mustang said, as Ed nearly fell over again.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Margaret sighed as she headed backward through the formation, toward Pierce and his cohorts. Someone had to teach them that playing with Frank's mind was not a constructive stress-relief method. And since Frank was apparently incapable of standing up for himself with any measure of effectiveness, that duty fell to her.

As she approached, she heard them arguing.

"I'm getting really sick of this," Ed grumbled. He looked like he was about to fall over, if not for Mustang's hand on his shoulder steadying him.

"I'm beginning to think his inner ear got damaged last night," Trapper said, with a glance toward Pierce. "What do you say we check him over when we get to the caves?"

"That sounds like a great idea," Pierce said, directing a pointed look at Ed.

"H*** no!" Ed protested. "When we get to the caves, I'm going to sleep!"

Pierce looked ready to argue, but instead he just sighed. "When you wake up, then."

"If it's that important to you," Ed grumbled.

Margaret decided this was a good time to speak up. "Captain Pierce, I need to talk to you about your conduct."

"I'm not a nurse, Hot Lips," Pierce said. "You aren't in charge of me. So just go away, huh?"

"Even if I'm not your direct superior, I still outrank you," Margaret replied. "And I'm telling you to stop playing pranks on Frank."

"But it's so much fun!" Pierce whined.

"Do I seem to care?" Margaret asked.

"Look, some of us need a little humor to keep our sanity around here," Pierce said.

Margaret's eyebrow quirked upward at the mention of sanity.

"She's got you there," Trapper commented.

"Whose side are you on?" Pierce asked, glaring at him.

"Captain Pierce, all I am saying is that you are an adult and a member of the U.S. Army," Margaret stated. "Would it kill you to act like it once in a while?"

"What if it would?" Pierce asked, that familiar, maddening gleam returning to his eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"What? Why can't I be myself?"

"How you manage to be such an excellent doctor and such an infuriating human being at the same time is a mystery to me!"

"How you manage to be such a great nurse and such a stick in the mud isn't so clear to me, either!"

"They sound like me and Winry…" Ed said, sounding surprised.

"How long do you think they'll be arguing?" Mustang asked Trapper.

"I've seen them go for hours without taking a break," Trapper said. "This might take a while."

"Maybe I should…" Father Mulcahey started.

But whatever he was going to say was drowned out by yet another explosion.

Margaret dropped to her knees and closed her eyes as the ground shook, the explosion roaring in her ears. She didn't feel very much heat, though, which suggested that the actual explosion wasn't close enough to be a danger to her. When she finally opened her eyes, the road was covered in a blanket of dirty, gray smoke that made it impossible to see more than a foot in front of her.

"Is it just me or was that one a lot closer than the last one?" Pierce asked loudly. He sounded close.

"I think you're right," Margaret said, trying to ignore the way the smoke made her nose and throat burn. "Where are you?"

"I'm over here!" he called, his voice coming from a place a few yards to her left. She carefully moved in that direction, holding the sleeve of her uniform in front of her mouth to keep from breathing in too much of the smoke.

Finally, she could make out a fuzzy outline that was probably Pierce, and another that was too short to be anyone other than Edward.

"There's something off here," Edward said, coughing rather violently before continuing. "The bombing wasn't supposed to be this close."

"Maybe they changed their target," Margaret suggested.

"But why?" Ed asked. "You're a medical unit, not a threat."

"People do horrible things during wars, Ed," Pierce said gently.

"Yeah, I guess," Ed said. "But something still feels off."

Surprise flashed on the blonde boy's face, and he brought his hands up in front of him in something that looked a bit like a karate stance.

"What—" Margaret started, breaking off as a shadowy figure lunged toward Ed.

He brought both arms up in front of him in a block, but when the figure slammed into him, they both ended up toppling over.

Pierce grabbed Margaret's hand and headed after them. "We have to stay with him!"

"What is going on?" Margaret demanded as they ran.

"I don't think we have time for the explanation," Pierce told her.

She could see them again, now. The shorter figure was obviously Ed, but the larger of the two was like no one she'd ever seen. Greenish-black hair rose in thin, sharp spikes above a black hairband. Eyes the color of blood glinted in the smoke.

"Pierce, what the h*** is that?" she asked, pulling her hand away from his.

"You won't believe me."

She didn't.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

After Envy had knocked him over, Ed had done his best to get up, but he couldn't exactly say it had gone well.

Instead, he at least had managed to knock Envy's feet out from beneath him when he'd gotten up. But that had only worked once, and now, Envy was standing over him, blue light tracing the contours of his arm as it turned into a wickedly sharp knife.

He tried to shuffle backwards, but there was only so much you could do with only one knee that bent. Maybe if he had a little more time…or if he had more practice with this leg…if, after everything he'd already survived, Envy killed him here, it would be a gigantic waste.

"Aren't you even going to fight back, shrimp?" Envy asked, leaning toward Ed, a wide smile on his face.

Ed grabbed Envy by the shirt and screamed, "DON'T CALL ME THAT!"

Envy tried to stand back up, but Ed kept his grip on the slippery material, and used it to get up as well.

"What's with you, Halfmetal?" Envy asked. "I mean, this is pathetic, even for you."

Ed didn't bother answering. Instead, he swung his auto-mail fist straight at Envy's face.

Envy dodged, and Ed nearly fell again, but he barely managed to catch himself. The object he leaned on was cylindrical and rough—a tree. So, they were in the forest. At least that was a clue. Still, a part of him was frantic. He had no idea where the others were, or even where he was, and he knew nothing about Korea's geography.

He swore quietly, gritting his teeth. The wooden leg was interfering with his fighting more than he'd anticipated. It was so much lighter than his auto-mail one that he was used to that he felt off-balance. Without the ability to bend his knee, walking was tricky, running was dangerous and kicking was out of the question. Under normal circumstances, he was only barely a match for Envy; as he was, there was no way he could win.

Envy countered with a kick to his side that slammed him into the tree trunk and made his abused ribs ache. He clutched his side and wanted to fall to his knees, but the wooden leg wouldn't bend.

"What do we have here?" Envy asked, wrapping his hand around Ed's neck and lifting him up by it. "A broken toy soldier…Well, if it's not any good anymore, we might as well throw it away!"

Ed kicked desperately with his good leg and clawed at the hand that encircled his neck, but nothing seemed to work. Envy snickered at his efforts and then threw him backwards.

He somehow managed to land in an awkward crouch, the wooden leg extended out to one side while his good one was bent under him. Gritting his teeth, he tried to get back onto his feet.

He felt a hand wrap around his arm and pull him upward. As he struggled to get his footing back, he glanced over his shoulder and saw who'd pulled him up.

"M-major Houlihan?" he asked, unsure of how to address the woman, who he could only remember talking to once or twice.

"Who is that?" Margaret asked. "And don't say it's some sort of immortal monster," she added. "Pierce already tried that trick on me, and it didn't work."

Ed bent over and made sure that the belt that was holding the wooden leg in place was still in position. Sure enough, it was.

"Envy isn't immortal," he said, without looking up. "Pierce was wrong about that much. But Envy's not human, either."

"You can't actually believe—" Margaret started.

"My brother met a relative of that thing's, once," Ed said, straightening and looking her in the eyes. "It told him, 'Nothing is impossible.' I think he'd know what he was talking about."

"There's more than one?" Margaret asked.

"Only one's anywhere near here," Ed said. "Look, I can't fight Envy like this. He'll kill me and Pierce, and threaten you into doing something incredibly dangerous. We need to get to the caves and we need to do it now. Where's Pierce?"

"I'm over here!" Pierce called. Ed could just make out an annoyingly tall, blurry outline a few feet to their left.

He swatted at the dust. "Why isn't it clearing?"

Margaret gave him a sideways look. "You aren't too patient, are you?"

Ed scowled at her. "I'm patient when my life's not in danger."

"He's got a point," Pierce remarked.

"Be quiet, Pierce," Margaret practically growled.

"Well, he does!"

Ed just chuckled to himself. They really did sound exactly like him and Winry.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

_A/N: Okay, that's done. Things are going to get a little more interesting in the next few chapters, so please look forward to it! I've been getting a few complaints about neglecting Lt. Col. Hawkeye, but she didn't want to cooperate when I tried to write her into this chapter. She should show up in number 20, though—holy heck, chapter 20! This thing's really gotten long…I wonder when I'll finish it…Anyhow, thank you very much for reading, and please drop me a review if you have time. I really do appreciate all of them, from the short "I like this" types to the ones that are long enough to be their own one-shots that a few of you have given me. Thanks!_


	21. Can't Change Rule Number One

_A/N: I bet you didn't think I was ever going to update…seriously, I'm sorry, everyone. I got a nasty case of writers block, and then I got really busy, and, before I knew it…anyhow, here it is, the long-awaited new chapter!_

_Special thanks to miladyRanger and KuroNekoShoujo for helping me sort through my ideas for this. Oh, and, miladyRanger, the suggestion you emailed me will be in the next chapter._

_In case anyone still cares, the anime I referenced in Chapter 18 was Gundam Wing. The line "_Pierce, meanwhile, looked like he'd just given someone a birthday invitation, only to have them rip it in half and throw the pieces in his face, all before threatening to kill him,_" is a pretty good description of what actually happens to one of the main characters in the last few minutes of the first episode._

_Anyhow, I'm so sorry for not updating. Since I've started the new chapter already, you can expect it sometime in the next few weeks. Thanks for hanging in there!_

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 20: Can't Change Rule Number One

**"Look, all I know is what they taught me at command school. There are certain rules about a war and rule number one is young men die. And rule number two is doctors can't change rule number one." -Henry Blake, M*A*S*H**

Dust and smoke swept across the road, filling Mustang's vision and shaking the ground beneath his feet. The bombing was getting closer…were they in danger from both the Koreans and Envy now?

The roar of shells exploding still filled the air, making it impossible to call out to those around him. Something was wrong about this whole situation.

And then, suddenly, instincts born in Ishbal and cultivated in the cutthroat politics of East City and Central re-awoke and he _knew_. The threat was still Envy. But he was using the Koreans.

After all, it wouldn't be difficult for a shape-shifter to impersonate a few officers and change some battle plans. But if that was the case, why hadn't they already been killed by the shelling? Envy spent enough time around camp to know the bug-out route, so he wasn't just missing them. Something else was going on. He needed more information.

He dragged the toe of his boot across the ground, drawing a simple air transmutation circle, and then knelt on the ground to activate it. A gust of wind dispersed the wall of smoke wrapping around them as Mustang quickly rose to his feet again.

"Blue sparks…" Father Mulcahey said quietly. Mustang really hoped that was as far as the priest's observational skills went.

A quick movement of his foot wiped away the transmutation circle while the others were distracted by looking around.

"Everyone okay?" Trapper asked.

There was a chorus of affirmative answers, but a few voices were missing. It took a few minutes for Roy to figure out which ones.

_No!_ he thought desperately, even as he asked aloud, "Where are Ed and Pierce?"

Trapper and Falman realized the seriousness of the situation right away.

"Oh, no," Trapper breathed.

"I don't see Major Houlihan, either," Mulcahey put in, worried.

Roy rubbed his temples. He was still missing something…

_Houlihan!_ He gasped silently. _She's "stubborn and a know-it-all," as Ed put it. She has to be one of Envy's candidates…Envy must be trying to separate her from the rest of us. But why separate Pierce and Ed too…unless he wants someone for her to bring back…_

The realization nearly stopped his heart. He turned to Father Mulcahey.

"Find Colonel Blake and tell him that we need to stop and look for Pierce, Houlihan and Ed," Mustang said. "Tell him that they could die if we don't find them now."

"Colonel…" Mulcahey started to ask.

"Please," Mustang said.

Mulcahey nodded. "Very well."

As the priest headed toward the front of the rather disorganized formation, Mustang turned to Falman and Trapper.

"Let's go," he said.

"I don't know about this," Trapper said anxiously. "There's shelling and none of us know our way around the forest…"

"That no longer matters," Mustang said. "It's a simple choice. Do you want to see the three of them alive again?"

"Of course!" Trapper said indignantly.

"Then help me find them," Mustang said. "We're outside of camp. Envy no longer has any reason to hold back."

Surprise and worry flitted across Trapper's face before it settled into a look of determination. "Let's go."

"Ed's heavy enough to leave deep footprints…and this ground is practically swampland…" Falman said, looking around.

"There!" Trapper said, pointing.

Sure enough, an uneven set of footprints led into the forest.

"Right," Mustang said, as he moved to follow them and track down his subordinate.

If Envy had hurt Ed…Mustang would make sure he hurt Envy even more.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"This is bad," Ed said suddenly.

Margaret glanced at him, confused.

"He hasn't attacked again," Ed explained. "So either he's so sure he'll win that he's gotten cocky or he's planning something."

"What would he be planning?" Margaret asked.

Ed was silent for a few moments. Then, a terrified expression appeared on his face.

"What?" Margaret asked.

"You're a candidate, too," Ed breathed.

_A candidate?_ Margaret wondered. _For what?_

"Listen," Ed said. "Whatever you do, just don't—"

A soft clicking noise interrupted him, and she felt the sudden warmth of another presence beside her. A rough voice whispered into her ear.

"Don't listen to the midget," it suggested. "After all, _he_ isn't the one with a gun to your head."

She could feel it now, a ring of cold steel, pressed against her head, just above her ear. She tried not to start shivering. She wasn't very successful.

"Let her go!" Pierce demanded, and she admired his effort to be brave, she really did. But she didn't think this…person…monster…she didn't know what to believe anymore, because just being close to it felt _wrong _ in a way a person wouldn't…was about to let her go without a fight.

The rough-voiced thing laughed cruelly. "Not gonna happen, doc. How about you just worry about the midget and leave your girlfriend to me."

The sound that answered him was more a growl than anything else, and Margaret was surprised. She'd never heard Pierce this angry over someone who wasn't a patient. More surprisingly, it was her. She'd always thought that Pierce hated her.

"Shh," the voice admonished. "If you startle me, my finger might slip."

"Pierce, be quiet," Margaret said, her voice strained. "He's serious."

"That's a good girl," said the voice. "Just keep walking. I've got someone a little while away from here who I'd like you to meet."

She gulped, her throat horribly dry, and started walking.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"The prints just…stop here," Falman said quietly, pointing at the ground.

"Look around…maybe they had to carry him…wait, those are footprints, too," Mustang said. "Deep ones, from bare feet. Envy."

"Do you think we're too late?" Trapper asked.

"Ed can take care of himself, even badly hurt," Mustang said. "You'd be surprised. Don't count him out yet."

"Here, I found them again, and there are some other footprints that might be Margaret and Pierce," Falman said.

"Good," Mustang said. "We should hurry."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Margaret took slow, even steps as the entered a clearing. A few yards ahead of her was some sort of drawing done in the mud, made up of overlapping geometric shapes and various odd symbols. What on earth…

She heard a sharp intake of breath from outside of her vision, too high to be Pierce's or her captor's. Ed, then.

"I bet this brings back memories, pipsqueak!" her captor—hadn't Ed called him Envy?—cackled.

"S-shut up!" Ed shouted back, his voice trembling. What was so disturbing about a drawing?

"But, enough reminiscing," Envy said dismissively. "So, Margaret, was it? Let's start walking again."

She moved forward, one leg in front of the other, until she stood less than a foot from the odd circle inscribed on the swampy ground.

"Now, kneel," he ordered.

She complied, the mud soaking through her khaki pants the moment her knees hit the ground. The sound of mud squelching under her weight was the only noise in the clearing.

"Good. Now put your hands on the ground, palms first, that's right."

She could hear a vicious smile in his voice.

"Now, all we need is someone for you to resurrect…I'd kill the pipsqueak, but I can't be sure we have a suitable replacement for him yet," her captor said. "So, it'll have to be the doctor."

Then, suddenly, the gun was no longer against her temple. She didn't waste a second—her fist connected with Envy's face only seconds after the bullet left his gun.

At the back of her mind, the thump that had followed the sound of the bullet registered, but she couldn't afford to think about that now. The punch wouldn't disable him for long…she had to get away, before she was used as a hostage again.

But as soon as she started running, something wrapped around her ankle, and she fell. Looking back, she saw that it was a hand…attached to an arm stretched much farther than an arm should be able to extend. That was…unnatural, and unexplainable, unless Pierce and Ed were telling the truth about Envy being a "monster."

The hand dragged her backwards, the rocks that littered the ground biting into her skin as she slid through the mud. And then, another head was wrapped around her chin, turning her around and pulling her face upward until her eyes were inches from Envy's.

They were the color of pools of blood, and if there had ever been any humanity in them, it was long buried. There was no mercy in those eyes.

She wanted to yell, to scream for help, but she was almost more afraid of not being answered than she was of Envy.

"GET AWAY FROM HER!" she heard Ed shout.

Blood splashed onto her uniform as the boy sliced something through Envy's torso…good Heaven, how had he hidden a knife in his sleeve? As Envy's hands went slack, releasing her, Ed stepped between her and Envy.

"Stay away from her, unless you want me to beat the crap out of you," Ed stated, and, for once, Margaret appreciated his rudeness.

But she could see how unsteady he was on his feet. He'd lose if he fought Envy, and he knew it. She was about to tell him not to do it when she heard a voice she never expected to hear again.

"You want someone to activate this thing so bad?" Pierce shouted. "Fine!"

She looked over to see him kneeling on the ground before the circle, hands on the ground, palms first, just as Envy had told her to do.

And then, electricity crackled across the drawing, and lit the clearing in neon blue.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Pierce heard Envy, but the words didn't really register at first.

"Now, all we need is someone for you to resurrect…I'd kill the pipsqueak, but I can't be sure we have a suitable replacement for him yet," Envy said. "So, it'll have to be the doctor."

Pierce didn't even realize that Envy meant him until Ed knocked him over.

He watched, frozen, as Margaret punched Envy and as Ed went to help her. There wasn't anything he could do, after all. He was a doctor, not a soldier. He wasn't even much good in a fistfight. He hated the fact that there was nothing he could do.

Unless…maybe…Envy wanted that circle activated. That was why he was here. So maybe, just maybe, if Pierce tried to use it, he'd back off for a little while. It wasn't that he hadn't heard all of Ed's warnings. He'd heard them perfectly, and he'd connected the dots far enough to be almost certain that this was how Ed had lost his limbs. But there were things that Pierce was willing to sacrifice, and things that he wasn't.

Even if Margaret was an untrustworthy, ambitious, hypocrite with horrible taste in men, and even if he'd only known Ed for a few months and still barely understood the kid most of the time, they were people he cared about. Being stuck in a place you didn't want to be with a bunch of other people formed bonds—strange ones, but still. The people he'd met at the 4077th, including the Amestrians, were a little like an extended family. And he was not about to leave his family to some psycho, especially not when Margaret barely knew what was going on and Ed could barely stand.

He ran over to the circle, dropped to the ground, and called out something really stupid designed to tick Envy off, then spread his fingers wide and pressed his palms into the ground. He hoped he'd survive this, but, if he didn't…well, he could think of worse ways to go.

The circle glowed blue with power, and Pierce gritted his teeth as he felt it flow through him. The blue light slowly turned darker, almost purplish, but at the same time got brighter and brighter until it was all that he could see, the crackling of the energy in the cold Korean air filling his ears at the same time.

And then, suddenly, everything was silent.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Excellent!" Envy crowed as the circle lit up. "Finally, someone _cooperates_!"

Ed's expression twisted into a snarl as he turned toward the circle. He clapped his hands—Margaret wondered at the inappropriateness of the gesture, Pierce was doing what Envy wanted, for heaven's sake!—and pressed them to the ground. Suddenly, there was another surge of blue energy tangled in the blue light that shone from the lines drawn in the mud. And then, the light started turning purple, and then, it flashed outward, and Edward fell backward as if he'd been struck by a physical force rather than light.

"Come on…" Edward gasped out as he tried to get up. "Stop! That should have stopped the reaction…"

Margaret rushed to his side and helped him up, grateful that Envy seemed to be ignoring both of them in favor of the freaky lightshow that Pierce had caused.

"Ed!" Mustang's voice shouted. Margaret glanced behind her, and saw him, along with Trapper and another of the Amertrians-Fairman…no, Falman—running toward them.

"What's going on?" Mustang demanded. "Is that Pierce?"

Ed nodded morosely. "I tried to stop the reaction…"

"He's gone!" Trapper shouted.

Margaret followed his gaze, and, sure enough, Pierce was nowhere to be seen. The previously glowing circle was now dark, as well.

"D*** IT!" Ed swore, still leaning heavily on Margaret. "I warned him!"

"And the delicious thing is, I'm pretty sure the only reason he did it was to protect you and the lady," Envy sneered. "This one's on you, pipsqueak."

"Don't you even try to put the blame for this on Ed," Mustang snarled, raising a hand as if to snap.

"Well, while I'd love to stay for the show, I'd rather not burn to death repeatedly," Envy said, raising his hand in a mocking salute. "So, I'll be going."

And with that, he disappeared into the trees.

"Why would he leave?" Trapper demanded. "And where is Pierce?"

"He left because he knows he has what he wants," Mustang said. "Pierce is now one of his 'human sacrifices'."

"He's in the Gate, right now," Ed said, his voice soft. "I should have realized what he was doing before…"

"He's coming back, right?" Trapper asked, frantic.

Ed sighed. "I can't promise you that. But I can promise that if he doesn't make it back on his own, I'll do my best to get him out."

"Thank you," Trapper said. "How long does this normally take?"

"I don't know," Ed said.

Finally, Margaret found her voice. "What the h*** is going on?" she demanded.

"That's…a really, really long story," Ed said.

"And you're not gonna like it," Trapper added.

"Tell me anyway," Margaret insisted. "We've got time."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Pierce was standing in an endless expanse of whiteness that stretched around him in all directions.

There was…something, standing in front of him. It was shaped like a person, but it was almost entirely featureless. The only thing that separated it from the rest of the whiteness around it was the subtle play of highlights and shadows that outlined its form.

"So…this is the Gate," Pierce said, slowly.

"Ah, so you've heard of this place," a high, childlike voice, layered with odd echoes, observed.

As Pierce watched, terrified, the featureless thing gained a broad grin.

"Greetings, alchemist," it said.

Pierce opened his mouth to protest.

"Ah, ah, ah," the thing chided. "Don't deny it. As soon as you activated that circle, you _became_ an alchemist, whether you were one before or not."

"Are you the Truth?" Pierce asked.

"You could call me that, I suppose," it answered, still grinning. "I have many names. Some call me God. Some call me the universe. It doesn't really matter. I am All, and I am One. And I am also you."

Pierce drew back, every instinct he had screaming at him to run…but there was nowhere to run to.

"Do you want to see the Truth?" it asked.

"I've always preferred lies, actually," Pierce quipped as he tried to get his racing heart under control.

"Jokes will get you nowhere here," the figure said. "Now, are you ready?"

"Leave him alone!" someone shouted.

Something moved in the whiteness, something that wasn't white at all...and then, suddenly, it came to a stop in front of him.

Pierce gaped. There was a person—well, honestly it looked like a human skeleton with really long hair—standing between him and the Truth, stick-thin arms spread wide.

The figure's head turned and Pierce couldn't stop himself from gasping, because the boy protecting him looked just like Ed…apart from the skeletal thinness.

"Ed?" he asked, confused.

"I'm his little brother, Alphonse," the boy said, before turning back to Truth. "Leave him alone!" he repeated.

"Do what you wish," the Truth said, still grinning. "But take responsibility for the consequences. The soul bond your brother paid for wasn't permanent. If you help him to leave against my wishes, it _will_ weaken. Do you understand?"

"I don't care!" Alphonse shouted.

"As I said, do what you wish," the Truth said, and suddenly, he was gone.

Alphonse scowled. "I think he's just trying to make me nervous. I believe in my big brother. It will hold."

"…How are you here?" Pierce asked.

"Ed will explain," Alphonse said. "Just hurry. There's a door behind you and you have to go through it, as quickly as possible."

Pierce looked doubtfully at the emaciated boy, his instincts as a doctor kicking in. It was not good for someone to be so thin.

"You need medical attention," he said. "Come with me."

"Don't worry, I'm fine," Alphonse insisted. "Just go!"

Pierce turned around, and saw a large stone door, carved with the image of a tree, hovering in the whiteness. It opened before him, and he could see the clearing he'd left on the other side of the doorway. Shadows hovered around its edges, writhing and stretching.

"Hurry!" Alphonse shouted. "Don't let the shadows touch you!"

"Thank you!" Pierce shouted back.

He took a deep breath, and jumped through the doorway.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ed was getting really tired of people staring at him like he was insane.

"So, you're telling me that alchemy is actually real and it's the reason why Pierce disappeared, and also the reason why it was so hard to stop Envy," Margaret said. "Because he's an artificial human, created by alchemy."

"That's correct," Mustang said.

"That's enough explaining for now," Ed said. "We need to be ready for Pierce when he comes back."

"Ready?" Margaret asked.

"We'll probably need bandages," Ed said. "When you pass through the Gate…it takes things."

"Things?" Margaret asked.

"Limbs," Mustang explained. "Internal organs. Other body parts."

Margaret paled.

Something shone at the edge of Ed's vision. Startled, he turned toward it, only to see a circle of blackness surrounded by crackling purple energy.

"Pierce!" Ed shouted, just as the doctor came tumbling through the portal.

Ed stumbled over to Pierce, who had landed face-first in the mud, and started checking him over for injuries.

"What did it take?" he demanded, a hysterical edge on his voice.

To his surprise, Pierce actually answered. "It didn't take anything," he said, sounding rather surprised. "Someone stopped It. He said he was your brother."

"Alphonse?" Ed asked, drawing back in surprise. "You saw him? How did he look?"

"He looked like a skeleton with hair," Pierce said bluntly. "He said you'd be able to explain."

Ed was sure he'd be able to figure out an explanation of how Pierce made it out of the Gate unscathed if he tried, but right now, he was too danged relieved to care. To his own embarrassment, he felt tears welling up in his eyes.

"YOU PROMISED!" he shouted, wiping at his face.

Pierce stared at him in surprise.

"You promised you'd never touch a circle like that again, remember?" Ed continued. "D*** IT! NEVER do anything so STUPID again, got it? You scared the h*** out of me!"

"I'm with him," Trapper said, kneeling next to Pierce. "If I weren't so glad you're alive, I'd kill you myself."

"That was foolish," Mustang stated softly, coming up behind Edward. "I approve. But please refrain from frightening my subordinates like that."

Margaret, meanwhile, walked right up to Pierce and slapped him in the face, sending him sprawling backwards.

"If the 4077th had ended up short-handed because you decided to play hero, I would never have forgiven you, got it?" she barked.

Pierce got to his feet, rubbing his cheek gingerly. "Right. No more heroics. Got it. Sorry for scaring you, Ed."

Ed wiped his eyes with his sleeve again, the fabric feeling rough against skin already raw from crying, and then shook his head. "Don't worry about it."

"How did Alphonse…" Mustang started.

"When I tried to stop Pierce, my energy must have gotten tangled up in the reaction," Ed explained, thinking out loud. "And once I was connected to the reaction, so was Alphonse, since the two of us are connected. So that made him able to interfere. I'd guess that Alphonse simply stopped Truth from showing you anything, and since he never takes payment until after he shows you the Truth…you were safe."

"So, since Pierce didn't see what you saw…" Mustang started.

"He's not a potential sacrifice, no," Edward said. "I'm just worried that Al had to pay for protecting Pierce."

"That…Truth thing said something about a bond getting weaker…" Pierce said uncertainly. "But Alphonse said he believed in you, Ed, and that he thought it would hold."

Ed shook his head wearily. "I don't understand why he still believes in me, after everything I've put him through…"

Falman, who had been standing off to the side, suddenly spoke up. "The sooner we get back to the larger group, the sooner we'll be safe."

Mustang nodded. "Let's go."

Ed tried to keep walking, he really did, but his broken ribs were protesting his every breath, and they really, really didn't like it when he tried to move more than that. He gritted his teeth, but a soft hiss of pain still escaped.

He was too far gone to even register that Mustang had picked him up, or to hear his commanding officer muttering about the years of back pain he was guaranteeing himself.

_A/N: All right, I realize that Pierce got out of the Gate mostly on technicalities and speculative fanon. But Arakawa left the mechanics of the Gate open to enough of an extent that I feel justified. Besides, I got to have Al in the story, even if it was for less than a page, and that makes me happy, dangit. If you feel the need to poke holes in my explanation, please do it in a review. Oh, and I realize crying is OOC for Ed, but he's tired, stressed, and if I injure him anymore he'll probably keel over. He's earned a moment of weakness or two. Please review if you have the time! Next chapter: Things wind down, temporarily, and explanations abound._


	22. An Extra Special Freak Show

_A/N: Hey, everyone, guess what? I actually wrote another chapter. There's a decent amount of Henry in this one, and a little bit of hinted Royai that you can thank miladyRanger for inspiring. Actually, miladyRanger suggestion is probably the only reason that Riza shows up in this chapter at all…I still have trouble writing her…oh, well. Another thank-you goes to kalirush, who also helped my inspiration this time around. The quote this chapter is referring specifically to Henry, who, as I mentioned, is about to get involved in the plot, the poor man. Anyhow, I hope you all enjoy it, even if Henry might not! _

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 21: An Extra-Special Freak Show

**"Looks like I stumbled onto an extra-special freak show," –Maes Hughes, FMA**

Henry was starting to get fed up with this.

"Just wait a little bit longer, Colonel Blake, please," Father Mulcahey pleaded.

"If we stay out in the open like this for much longer, we're all gonna get blown sky-high," Henry said, crossing his arms. "We'll send some MPs to look for them once we get to the caves."

"But—" Mulcahey started.

"I'm worried about them, too," Henry said. "But we can't afford—"

"Colonel Blake!" Trapper's voice shouted.

Father Mulcahey turned, to see Trapper emerging from the forest.

He came to a stop in the middle of the road, gasping for breath between words. "The others will be here soon…everyone's okay…well, Pierce is kinda freaked out and Ed fell asleep standing up…but they're pretty much okay…please, just wait a few minutes…"

"Fine," Henry said. "But Mustang promised me an explanation and it had better be good."

"It'll be good," Trapper assured him.

A few minutes later, Mustang emerged from the forest, with a sleeping Ed slung over his shoulder. If the kid hadn't been snoring, Henry would have assumed the worst. Margaret was a few steps behind them, covered in dirt and fuming. Pierce followed, looking a bit more out of it than usual. Falman was behind the other, his expression as unreadable—to Henry at least—as always.

"Do you even have a sense of direction?" Margaret was complaining.

"We're here, aren't we?" Mustang pointed out. "Calm down."

"After the kind of day I've had today, you expect me to calm down?" Margaret asked rather hysterically.

"Ed and Pierce are managing," Mustang said flatly.

Margaret pretended not to hear him.

"Everyone all right?" Henry asked nervously.

"Ed just needs some sleep, and maybe some pain medicine when he wakes up," Pierce said, "and Margaret's kind of upset, even if she won't admit it. Otherwise, we're fine."

"Pierce should probably sit down for a while when we get to the caves," Mustang added.

Pierce glared at him. Mustang glared back.

"Is anyone going to tell me what just happened?" Henry asked.

"When we get to the caves, I swear," Mustang promised.

Suddenly, an out-of-breath Hawkeye ran up to them, blonde hair disheveled.

"I heard that something had happened involving Colonel Mustang…" she managed to gasp. "What is—" She caught sight of Mustang, and broke off. "Colonel, what happened?"

"Everything's fine," Mustang said placatingly.

"Don't lie to me!" Hawkeye barked.

"Let's get moving, everyone!" Henry shouted, with a sideways glance at the bickering Amestrians. He was happy not to be in Mustang's place, that much was absolutely certain.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Hawkeye had stationed herself near the head of the formation, to watch for trouble, while Mustang and the others, slowed down by Ed, were near the back.

That had proven to be a mistake.

She prided herself for her ability to keep calm under fire. But there were certain situations that she was used to reacting to in certain ways. In Ishbal, if you heard an explosion, you ducked, immediately, and waited for the flames to dissipate before you so much as moved. Roy had counted on her to do that, because otherwise, he would have had to worry about accidentally hurting her.

So it was somewhat hard to walk down the dusty road—Korea was like Ishbal in that way, as well—hearing explosions, and not even pausing. She found herself flinching at each one—it was disgraceful.

She could hear far-off screams, maybe American soldiers, maybe Korean ones, but in the end, it didn't really matter, did it? All of them were human, just like her. On a battlefield, no one was any better or worse. Rank, age, social class, none of those really mattered. All that mattered were life or death.

She hadn't thought about these sorts of things since Ishbal. She'd shoved the memories to the back of her mind, and convinced herself that they were unimportant, but they were threatening to overwhelm her now. She felt like she was nothing more than one gigantic raw nerve.

And then, the entire formation stopped moving, on Henry's orders. In the middle of enemy territory, with no shelter in sight, they just stopped. They were sitting ducks. Any moment now, fire would rush through the forest like the waters of a river at high tide…no, she needed to calm down. They were far enough away from most of the bombing to be okay, they weren't going to die, and they were safe. She tried to keep telling herself that.

Then, she started to hear snatches of conversation.

"…can't find him.."

"…Colonel Mustang's gone…"

"…they're looking for one of those Amestrians, right?"

No matter how she fit those fragmented sentences together, the picture they made was ugly. She couldn't just ignore this.

She ran toward the back of the formation, searching for someone who might know what was going on. When she caught sight of Henry, she had to stop herself from sighing with relief.

"I heard that something had happened involving Colonel Mustang…" she managed to gasp. "What is—"

And then, caught sight of Mustang and it was like a weight had been lifted off of her chest. He was covered in mud and a little scratched up, but he was alive and in one piece. Even better, Ed was with him, asleep and safe as well.

Then, she remembered why she'd been looking for him in the first place. "Colonel, what happened?"

"Everything's fine," Roy said, with the tone he used when he wanted the subject to be changed.

"Don't lie to me!" Hawkeye barked, because he'd scared the living daylights out of him.

She heard Henry give the order to keep moving, but barely listened to it, instead choosing to glare at her commanding officer.

"I'm waiting," she said.

"I'm sorry," Roy said at length. "Something came up."

His expression darkened, and she could read from it the words he couldn't say. _It was Envy again. This time, we barely made it._

She frowned at him, broadcasting her own silent message. _Next time, be more careful!_

One of his eyebrows quirked slightly upward, as a small smirk inched its way across his face. This expression, and the silent message it carried, was a familiar one. _I don't need to be careful. You're watching my back for me. I know I can count on you._

She nodded, resigned. _Yes, sir,_ her expression said.

And, in one silent conversation, the tide of memories and the horrible nervousness that had threatened to overwhelm her subsided. They weren't entirely gone, but they were lessened, and she could handle them now. She was his strength so often, but she often forgot that, sometimes, she needed him to be her strength, instead.

In the end, she was fine with marching straight into Hell, or straight through Korea, or just about anywhere, as long as it was with him.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ed blinked a few times before the scene in front of him came into focus. In front of him, nurses and soldiers were crowding around jeeps, unloading the wounded along with boxes of supplies.

"Hey, kid," Pierce said softly.

Ed rubbed his eyes, then turned to face the doctor. "How long have I been out?"

Pierce looked rumpled and a bit unsettled, and his arms were crossed tightly across his chest. He was sitting against a rock…probably the same rock that was behind Ed, since he knew he wasn't sitting up by his own power.

"An hour or so," Pierce answered. "We're at the caves now."

Ed fingered his tender side. "I guess Mustang carried me here…

"Yep," Pierce confirmed.

The two of them sat in silence for a few moments.

"How are you doing?" Ed asked carefully.

"I don't know…" Pierce said slowly. "I'm trying not to think about it much, and to top it all off, the caves—"

"What about them?" Ed asked.

"…I'm claustrophobic," Pierce admitted reluctantly.

"Oh…oh, geez," Ed said. "This really is a mess. I'm sorry, but I'm glad I'm not having your dreams tonight."

"I wish _I_ wasn't going to have them," Pierce replied. "Say…that night you woke up screaming, was _that thing_…"

"Yeah..." Ed admitted. "I dreamt that it was hurting Al."

Pierce winced. "Speaking of that…why did I see him there?"

Ed didn't want to explain this. He really, really didn't want to explain this. But Pierce deserved at least that much, after all he'd been put through because of Ed.

He took a deep, shaky breath. "What you talked to in the Gate…that was Al's body, and the little bit of his soul that's still in it. The rest of his soul…it's still back in Amestris."

Pierce was staring at him, wide-eyed, now.

"You already figured it out," Ed stated. "You know that I've been to the Gate."

Pierce nodded.

"Al and I…we tried to bring our mother back," Ed explained. "Truth took my leg. And Al. My arm…it was enough to get back his soul, so I attached it to a suit of armor that happened to be nearby."

"…A suit of armor?" Pierce asked.

"We were in our father's study," Ed said. "There weren't a lot of options."

"You can do that?" Pierce asked in faint astonishment.

"Yeah," Ed said tiredly. "But don't sound so impressed. Al's alive, but he can't feel anything, can't eat, can't sleep…all because of me."

"Is blaming yourself for things a hobby of yours?" Pierce asked, almost rhetorically.

"Uh, no, why?" Ed asked.

"You sure seem to do it all the time," Pierce stated.

"Only 'cause I screw up so much," Ed rejoined.

"Give yourself a break," Pierce suggested. "You're pretty badly hurt; take it easy."

Ed just grunted in response.

"Doctor's orders."

"Shut up," Ed groused, without any real ire behind his words.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Anyone else but Henry would have seen the argument and tried to break it up. But, for all of Frank and Margaret's accusations of incompetence, Henry wasn't an idiot. He may not have known the entire Army code straight through, but he knew his men and he knew that arguing with Ed was somehow keeping Pierce from losing it entirely.

Pierce was off. He couldn't explain it any better than that. But there was something wrong with the doctor, something more than usual bothering him. He was making a decent attempt at looking like nothing had happened, but something had. Something more complicated than running across a Korean patrol. Whenever Pierce thought no one was looking, his eyes went blank, and wide, as if he were staring at some horror that Henry couldn't see.

Trapper was already in the caves, but it had been nearly the same with him. His normal, easygoing smile had been replaced with a grim, tight frown that Henry had only seen him wear when the situation was truly serious. That worried him.

And Margaret…well, Margaret was always too serious, so nothing had really changed there. But, the last time he'd seen her, she had also seemed a bit confused, like she was trying to figure out some great mystery.

Funny, that's what he was trying to do, too.

He wasn't surprised to see Colonel Mustang walking up to him. The man was secretive, distant and a bit of a jerk, at least in his opinion, but he was also the kind of guy who honored promises.

"Are you certain you want to know about this?" the Amestrian asked. "It will put you in danger."

"But Pierce, Trapper and Hot Lips are already knee-deep in whatever you're trying not to tell me about, right?" Henry asked. "I want to know."

Mustang's lips formed a thin line—not quite a frown, but definitely not a smile. "Very well. We'll need somewhere private to talk."

"There's a cave that's being used for supplies over there," Henry said, gesturing toward it. "No one's in it right now."

Mustang nodded. "That should suffice. Let's go."

Henry followed him, hoping desperately that this would finally answer a few of his questions.

When they arrived at the cave, Mustang scanned the area to make sure they were alone, and then began.

"First of all, I'd like to apologize for putting your camp in danger, both on Fullmetal's behalf and on my own—"

"Who?" Henry asked.

Unexpectedly, Mustang let out a sigh of relief. "Good," he said. "You are Henry, then."

"Who else would I be?" Henry asked, perplexed.

"Envy," Mustang stated, his voice turning dead serious, "an enemy from Amestris who followed us here. He's more dangerous than you can imagine."

"And you thought I was him?" Henry asked slowly.

"He has a way of disguising himself that is nearly foolproof," Mustang explained. "If he were to approach you disguised as your wife, you would never know the difference."

Henry wasn't quite sure he believed that, but he still had questions. "Who's Fullmetal, though?"

"Fullmetal is Ed's codename," Mustang stated. "Pierce is the only person here who knows what it means. If you hadn't questioned it, I would have known that you were Envy."

"So, why's he here?" Henry asked. "And what have my people got to do with it?"

Mustang grimaced. "Envy is working for someone," he explained. "We don't yet know who. But whoever it is has a plan that involves using Ed, and I, as well as a few others as 'human sacrifices'. However, we've been fighting back, so he's looking for others with potential to fulfill our roles in whatever plans his organization has. Pierce, Margaret, and Trapper were all candidates for that."

"Were?" Henry echoed.

"None of them will be stupid enough to do what he wants them to do, not after what happened this afternoon," Mustang stated.

"And what did happen?" Henry asked.

Mustang rubbed his temples, looking frustrated, then, finally, fished a glove out of his pocket, switched it with the glove he was wearing on his left hand, and snapped.

Henry barely caught a glimpse of the stitched design on the back of the glove before the sight of a small flame dancing above Mustang's fingers stole his attention.

"Before I explain that, I should probably explain alchemy," Mustang said, the cave's shadows dancing across the smirk splitting his face as the flame hovering above his fingers flickered.

Henry didn't understand much of the explanation, but he got the basics—some of the Amestrians could turn things into other things with little circular doodles. This…was in a whole new dimension of weird from the typical strangeness of the 4077th. Though, the fact that he could even say that the 4077th had a typical strangeness indicated that weird magic-y science wasn't that much worse than their normal chaos.

"So Envy can do this, too?" Henry asked.

"Not exactly…" Mustang said. "He can change himself…shape-shift into whatever he wants, pretty much. And he can survive wounds that should be fatal. But he can't do anything else."

"Then what has all of this got to do with anything?" Henry asked.

"Because what Envy wants from Ed and I, and what he wanted from your people…it had to do with alchemy," Mustang explained. He broke off, looking unsure.

Henry waited for him to continue.

"There's a taboo, among alchemists," Mustang said. "The most serious one we have. It's against trying to bring someone back to life—what we call human transmutation."

"Wait, that's possible?" Henry asked, gaping.

"It's not," Mustang said. "That's why it's forbidden. Anyone who attempts it is injured at best, and killed at worst. But those who attempt it gain knowledge of alchemy that's limited to those who have broken the taboo. Envy's master wants people like that, for some reason."

"In order to break the taboo and survive, one must be intelligent and strong-willed," Mustang continued. "Pierce, Margaret, and Trapper all fit those criteria. Envy has tried to trick each of them into performing human transmutation, but each time, we have managed to prevent it—and by we, I mostly mean Ed. I fight with fire. In a crowded area of very flammable tents surrounded by even more flammable forests, using fire is too dangerous."

"So that's why the kid keeps looking like he got beat up?" Henry asked.

Mustang nodded. "Envy is a tough opponent."

"And today?" Henry asked. "When Pierce came back looking like he'd seen his own death?"

Mustang grimaced again. "He had…or at least the nearest thing to it," the colonel said. "Envy came very close to killing Ed, and, in order to distract him, Pierce—"

"He did it, didn't he," Henry broke in, with the sort of crushing certainly that comes from knowing Benjamin Franklin Pierce's reckless streak from personal experience. "That taboo you're talking about, he tried to do it, right?"

Mustang nodded. "Fortunately, we had unexpected help," he said. "Otherwise, Pierce would either be dead or missing something important right now."

"Important?"

"Like a limb. Or an internal organ."

Henry winced. "Geez, that's some dangerous stuff you're messing with, huh?"

"Ed and I are well-acquainted with the costs of alchemy," Mustang said. "We know its dangers from experience. Your people do not have the dubious benefit of our experiences. That is what makes this situation so dangerous."

"Your experiences?" Henry asked, raising an eyebrow. "What kind of experience does the kid have?"

"That is a private matter," Mustang said firmly. "Ask Ed himself if you have to know."

"The kid doesn't look like he's up for answering questions," Henry pointed out.

Guilt flitted through Mustang's eyes. "I am aware of that," he said. "But Ed's stronger than you give him credit for. At any rate, you now know what is going on."

"Not really," Henry stated. "You made some deal with Klinger a while back, something in exchange for you helping him get a Section Eight. Did you drag him into this, too?"

Mustang shook his head. "He knows nothing about Envy. He's just been helping Ed out with something."

Henry wondered, for a moment, what the fifteen year old would need help with. And then, he thought about Ed, and Klinger, and, suddenly, everything made sense.

"Ed's a girl, isn't he?"

Mustang blinked, at him, stupefied, for a few seconds, then let out a loud bark of laughter. Quickly, he covered his mouth with his hand, but a few more choked bits of laughter still escaped. Finally, he took a deep breath and composed himself.

"Edward is not a girl," he said, a slight hint of laughter lingering in his tone.

"But the long hair—and all the moodiness—I've never seen him with his shirt off—that's just gotta be it!" Henry stammered.

"Edward is definitely male," Mustang said. "Yes, he's moody, and he's never given me a good explanation for why he wears his hair so long, but he's definitely not a girl. Don't tell him you thought that; he'll try to punch you."

Mustang paused, thoughtful. "On second thought, wait until he's feeling better, then tell him. It could be amusing."

Henry ignored him, since he had a feeling that he would be the butt of that particular joke and he didn't want to get beat up by a fifteen year old.

"So, what is Klinger helping him out with?" Henry asked again. "And don't say it's none of my business; I'm sick and tired of you and the other Amestrians sneaking around behind my back."

Mustang frowned. "If I tell you, you cannot mention it to anyone outside of this room. Not even Ed. No, especially not Ed. He's not going to want to talk about it, and, considering how many injuries he has right now, I don't want to force him to."

Henry nodded, confused.

"Amestrian prosthetics are more advanced than American ones," Mustang started, making Henry wonder what he was leading up to. What did this have to do with Ed? Or Klinger, for that matter?

"However, they are also more complex," Mustang added. "They're also harder to fix. Ed's left leg is prosthetic, and it was damaged in a fight with Envy before we left camp. Klinger is the only person with mechanical expertise who I felt I could trust with the repairs, so…"

"Hold on just a second," Henry said. "The kid has a prosthetic leg?"

"Yes," Mustang said.

"And you let him stay in the army afterwards?" Henry practically growled. "What the h*** were you thinking?"

"The prosthetics are from before he joined the military," Mustang clarified.

"How'd he…" Henry started.

"That is none of your business," Mustang said, his voice low and just slightly dangerous. "Let me know if you have any more questions that are actually relevant."

And with that, Mustang stalked out of the cave, leaving Henry alone with his thoughts, which were currently swirling.

Maybe if he thought all of this over long enough, it would start making sense…

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

_A/N: Yeah, the fact that "prosthetics" was plural just now went whooshing over Henry's head. He'll figure it out eventually. If he seemed a little OOC, I'm sorry, but there isn't much of a canon basis for how Henry acts in a crisis situation. There were a few times he had crises, but nothing similar enough to this to really help, so I ended up extrapolating a bit. _

_Anyhow, hope you enjoyed the chapter; please leave me a review if you have time. Next time will probably be more aftermath—hopefully, Ed will actually get his leg back in the next chapter or so. Until then, see you!_


	23. If Possible Without Going Crazy

_A/N: Finally, an update, huh? I'm sorry it's been so long; my last semester at school was rather tough and I lacked free time. But I finally finished this, so I hope you all enjoy it! You at least have Ed getting his leg back to look forward to. _

_A few notes: first, there is a _**warning**_ on this chapter for description of gore/disturbing images. Remember how Pierce was expecting some pretty disturbing nightmares? He got at least one. My beta-reader, miladyRanger, yelled at me for not warning her before she read it. Since miladyRanger isn't that easily freaked out, I figured you might appreciate the heads-up. So, the T rating on this chapter is a fairly strong one—I still don't think it quite merits an M, but you can disagree in a review if you like._

_Second, since this fic is rapidly approaching 200 reviews, I wrote another oneshot, the one that got the second-greatest number of votes in that poll all that time ago. So, it's the one where Pierce meets Maes in a dream. Once the 200__th__ review goes up, it will, too._

_Third, Father Mulcahey figures rather prominently in this chapter, and he tends to think everything through based on Catholicism, being that he's a priest. This isn't meant to offend anyone, and I might or might not agree with any given statement he makes. It's just an occupational hazard of writing a priest...sort of like how atheistic statements are an occupational hazard of writing Ed. Oh-and for part II of the disclaimer, M*A*S*H and FMA aren't mine._

_Fourth, there should be some new art for this fic up on my deviantArt soon. Please look out for it!_

_Finally, thanks again to miladyRanger for beta-reading, even if she did yell at me for a good half-hour about that dream sequence. You can thank her for the scene with Falman in this chapter, as well—it was her idea._

**A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn**

Chapter 23: If Possible Without Going Crazy

"**Why don't you grow up, for crying out loud? I'm not here for you to admire. I'm here to pull bodies out of a sausage grinder, if possible without going crazy. Period." –Hawkeye Pierce, M*A*S*H**

Even as she made sure that the patients who had been forced to evacuate with them were stable, Margaret couldn't quite keep her thoughts from swirling. The afternoon's unexpected events had left her feeling a bit…unsettled.

An annoying voice at the back of her mind that sounded entirely too similar to Pierce suggested that "panicky" and "horrified" were better words. And, unfortunately, that voice did not shut up when she ignored it—though, then again, neither did the real Pierce.

She prided herself on her ability to keep her head even in the most overwhelming situations, but…well…some things were even beyond her. Alchemy…homunculi…the Gate…she'd had these things explained to her, yes, but actually wrapping her mind around them was proving to be a bit more than she could handle.

Normally, she'd handle this by finding Frank, and immersing herself in the meaningless, temporary relationship they liked to pretend was a romance. But, as much as she liked to say she didn't, she knew it wasn't real. As soon as the war was over, Frank would go back to his trophy wife and his suburban house and she would be nothing more than a memory. Even so, sometimes, she needed to believe the lie that they were in love, because what else was there to believe in here?

But not now. She wouldn't be able to stomach his sweet talk or believe his false claims that he cared. She couldn't do it, not after everything this afternoon, the impossible realness of it all.

The setting sun was coloring the horizon bright red—which seemed appropriate somehow. Perhaps because of the kind of day it was ending…or the kind of tomorrow it was most likely leading up to. She wasn't enough of a fool to believe that today's events wouldn't result in even more chaos in the days to come.

But the day, long as it was, was finally ending, and all of her questions would just have to wait until she had gotten some sleep.

That is, if she could actually calm down enough to.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Pierce hated caves. Loathed them, actually. He held the same sort of deep hatred for them that he normally reserved only for members of high command. He probably even hated them more than he hated Frank.

As if on cue, Frank let out a particularly loud snore.

No, not even caves were worse than Frank. But they were still pretty bad.

If he didn't think about it, he didn't feel like the walls were closing in on him or like he was suffocating. The problem was that not thinking about it made him think about it.

He was trying to sleep, he really was. It just wasn't working.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The first slivers of dawn were creeping into the cave when Pierce finally fell asleep. But, of course, it was not a dreamless sleep.

_He was in that gapingly empty white room again, but this time, he was wearing his uniform. It felt uncomfortable, and too tight. Or maybe that was just his own discomfort._

_His breath sped up as he turned to face the doors, and the shapeless form seated before them._

_It smiled, broadly, then glanced toward Pierce's feet._

_Pierce followed his gaze. There was something in front of his feet, a mass of tan and gold and red. Mostly red._

_He couldn't tell what it was, not at first. Then, he blinked, and his vision cleared._

_A smaller, younger Ed, blood-soaked bangs plastered to his face, lay before him. This boy had no auto-mail, only gaping wounds where his arm and leg ought to have been. His face was pale, his eyes were closed…and he wasn't bleeding enough. Someone whose heart was still beating would have been bleeding more._

_Pierce stared at Truth, horrified, but the cursed thing just kept smiling._

_And then, he felt a skeletal hand come to rest on his shoulder. He turned, once again, and met Alphonse's unnerving gold eyes. _

_"I helped you," he said. "I helped you, and this is how you repay me?"_

_"Huh?" Pierce asked._

_"This!" Alphonse cried, gesturing to the area around him. "All of this! It's all your fault!"_

_Bodies started appearing in the wake of Alphonse's gesture. Hundreds of them, piled on top of each other like broken and discarded toy soldiers. They were covered in blood, missing limbs and heads and every other part imaginable, and there were just so many of them…they covered the expanse of white entirely._

_At first they were distant. But as more and more appeared, they got closer and closer, until Pierce could smell them, the metallic tang of blood mixed with the stench of rotting meat._

_Alphonse opened his mouth, to start accusing him again, but instead, he coughed, covering his mouth with his hand. When he finally lowered his hand, Pierce could see the blood._

_Alphonse blinked once, twice, three times, and staggered, then feel forward, his bloody hand smearing red onto Pierce's clothing as he fell. _

_And then, somehow, the red bloomed outward, dyeing his uniform red as the bodies continued to pile up, closer and closer and closer. The bodies became familiar, first nurses and patients, then some of the doctors he'd met once or twice. He tried to take deep breaths, to calm down, but the stench of death was too thick and he found himself choking, just as he caught a glimpse of a ragged old teddy bear clutched in one of the corpse's arms._

Then, his eyes snapped open, and he screamed for all he was worth.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ed woke to the sound of Pierce screaming, and found that he couldn't breathe. Well, he could breathe, kind of, if little gasping pants counted, but he'd been awake for all of a second and was already feeling kind of lightheaded, which was not a good sign.

Frantically, he reached for the neck-clasp of his jacket and undid it, gasping in surprise as the skin on his neck proved tender to the touch.

Breathing became just a bit easier after that, and as he desperately tried to fill his lungs, he remembered. Envy had been holding him up by the neck. It had hurt. That probably meant there were bruises, and maybe swelling, which would probably make breathing harder.

Oh, and the broken ribs. Yeah, those would help with that.

So now he knew why he was having trouble breathing. But he couldn't remember telling anyone about Envy holding him up by the neck. Which was probably important. Because swelling usually happened gradually. In this case, while he was sleeping. It would be bad if he stopped breathing while he was sleeping, right?

Oh, and Pierce was still screaming. He should probably do something about that.

Oxygen deprivation was not helping his thought process one bit.

He tried to speak, choked, coughed, and tried again. "Pierce?" he rasped.

Pierce fell silent, turned to stare at him, and then ran for the mouth of the cave. Ed wasn't surprised to hear the sound of him throwing up soon afterward.

He tried to rub his throat, realized touching it was a bad idea, and then followed the doctor out.

"I'm…sorry…" Pierce gasped between dry heaves. "I didn't…mean to…wake you…up…"

"It's okay," Ed managed.

Pierce looked up and blinked, then stared at Ed for a few moments. "What happened to your neck?"

"Envy grabbed me by it," Ed said, coughing.

Pierce winced. "It looks bad," he said. "Are you having trouble breathing?"

Ed almost shook his head, then thought better of it. "I was, a little, but it's better now."

"I-I think someone should stay up and make sure you don't stop breathing while you're asleep," Pierce said.

"Don't want to sleep?"

"No," Pierce said, very, very quietly.

Ed nodded. "All right," he said. "But you'll have to sleep again sometime."

"I know," Pierce said, with a haunted look in his eyes.

Ed grimaced, the movement of his facial muscles pulling at the damaged muscles in his throat. "Good night."

He stumbled back into the cave, which was not a fun process, as moving hurt. Actually, he was pretty sure the only reason that leaving the cave hadn't hurt this much was that he'd been half-unconscious from oxygen deprivation at the time.

As he carefully lowered himself to the floor and tried to go back to sleep, he saw Mustang's open eyes scanning the cave. He waved a white-gloved hand to signal that everything was fine, hoping that the man would get the message and go back to sleep.

Unfortunately, he wasn't able to keep his eyes open long enough to be sure it had worked.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Father Mulcahey's eyes were closed, but he wasn't sleeping. He was too used to waking up for morning masses to sleep in late. But opening his eyes would present its own set of problems.

Sure enough, when he got up and opened his eyes, the Amestrians were still there. Which meant that all of the odd things he had been noticing lately had not just been part of some bizarre dream.

Father Mulcahey, like most Catholics, believed in the supernatural. However, like most wise Catholics, he generally tried to avoid actual encounters with it. He'd noticed a pattern in various Bible stories—other than the occasional recipient of a message conveyed via angel, almost everyone who had a physical encounter with some aspect of the supernatural realm tended to come out the worse for it. To deal with the supernatural successfully would probably require amounts of wisdom and knowledge that he just didn't have, which was rather unfortunate, since he was fairly sure the Amestrians and their actions were not entirely confined to the natural realm.

Yesterday, he'd seen blue sparks flitting around Mustang's boot just before the cloud of smoke covering the road dispersed. And even before that, his conversation with Ed had brought up questions. There was something beyond his understanding going on here.

Despite Frank's accusations, Mulcahey was fairly sure they weren't demons. And despite the similarities which existed between certain depictions of the archangels and Ed's appearance, the boy's foul mouth was enough evidence to support the conclusion that they were not angels, either.

However, some form of witchcraft or sorcery…that was a possibility. To be honest, Mulcahey had never given much thought to such things, and, having never seen them in action, he'd been inclined to believe that, if they still existed in this day and age, it was unlikely that they were very effective.

However, if that was what the Amestrians were doing, then Father Mulcahey had satanic forces to contend with, on top of the everyday threats of infections, shelling, and Army bureaucracy. He couldn't say he was thrilled at the prospect, but he tried to look on the bright side: if God only entrusted to men what He thought they could handle, then clearly God had a fairly high opinion of his abilities.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Trapper had a feeling he wouldn't be remembering this as one of the better days of his life. It had started out with beef jerky for breakfast—they couldn't cook anything, since smoke might tell the Koreans where they were. Then, he'd had to check on patients in cramped, dark caves with only Frank for company. And now, he was attempting to give a checkup to a tired, grumpy midget.

"Shove off," Ed growled—he actually growled, too, because his throat was so banged up that everything came out sounding like either a growl or a raspy whisper.

Trapper ignored him and continued gently pressing the boy's lymph nodes. Well, at least those weren't swollen.

"Cooperate, Ed," Mustang said. He was probably the only reason Ed hadn't actually tried to kick Trapper in the face yet—though Trapper wasn't counting too much on that lasting. Fortunately, playing football had taught him a little about dodging.

Ed huffed—it sounded sort of like the air coming out of a balloon, the way his throat was.

"Now open your mouth and stick out your tongue," Trapper said. "You should enjoy that last part."

Ed scowled, but obeyed, and Trapper took a look at his throat.

"Most of the swelling should go down by tonight," he said. "'til then, you should try to avoid talking if you can. So, how about a look at your leg? You said you'd let me check it when we got here."

Ed's eyes widened for a split second, and then his expression settled into a surly frown. "No," he said. "Not now. It can wait."

"Look, you told me—"

"I changed my mind," Ed replied. "Later, okay?"

"Waiting could make whatever damage you did to it worse," Trapper said.

To Trapper's surprise, Ed's answer started with a short, bitter laugh. "Not likely."

"How would you know?" Trapper asked.

"For the love of…you know what? Whatever. Go ahead. Look at it."

"Thank you," Trapper said. "Now, would you mind rolling up your pants leg?"

Ed didn't answer, or move to roll up the pants leg.

"Are you going to let me look at your leg or not?" Trapper asked, impatience sharpening his tone.

Ed just stared up at him tiredly. "Klinger has it," he said. "Ask him."

"What?"

"Klinger," Ed repeated. "You know, kinda tall, big nose, wears women's clothing all the time?"

"I know who Klinger is," Trapper snapped. Ed was starting to tick him off now. "What I wanna know is—"

"Klinger. Has. It." Ed repeated.

"That doesn't make any sense," Trapper said. "Being that it's kinda attached to your body."

"It's not," Ed said.

"What's not?" Trapper asked.

"My leg," Ed elaborated, the tired look in his eyes intensifying. "It's not attached to my body. It used to be, but it's not anymore, so I got a prosthetic, but then that got broken, so now Klinger's fixing it and I transmuted Frank's stool into a wooden leg that I'm using as a stand-in."

It took Trapper a fair amount of time to process all of that. "WHAT?" he finally gasped.

"Amestrian prosthetics," Ed explained. "They work better than yours. Have fun freaking out; I just want to sleep."

Silence fell for a few seconds, only broken by Mustang's muttered complaint regarding Ed's ability to recite every element in the human body, by percentage, from memory, and how it contrasted with his utter inability to comprehend the concept of tact.

Trapper glanced at Mustang. "So…was he screwing with me just now?"

Mustang shook his head.

"That was the truth?"

"Yes," Mustang answered. "And before you ask, he got the prosthetics before he joined the military."

"You said 'prosthetics' just then, didn't you?"

"His right arm."

"You sure you're not screwing with me?"

"No."

"Crap. I was kinda hoping you were."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The fact that he was currently losing a battle of wills with a piece of inanimate metal was not doing wonders for Klinger's self-esteem. He'd started working on it this morning, after he found a fairly well-hidden spot in some bushes near the mouth of the supply cave. And he'd made a pretty good amount of progress, dislodging the broken spring that had caused the problem in the first place and replacing the wires the spring had damaged with ones pillaged from a broken radio. But the broken spring…that would be a little harder to replace.

"Klinger," Mustang's voice said. "Are you finished yet?"

Klinger stood up and turned around, the broken spring in hand. "All except for this," he said. "It's broken and I don't really know where to get a replacement…"

"Leave that to me," Mustang stated. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Father Mulcahey tried again.

"Won't you please tell me something about what's been going on?" he asked.

Vato Falman didn't so much as blink in response.

Father Mulcahey had truly thought he'd had a good plan, namely, finding one of the Amestrians and pressing them for answers until they explained what was going on. When he'd found Vato Falman alone, outside of one of the caves, he'd thought he was in luck. However, it appeared that he'd miscalculated, because he'd been trying to get Falman to talk to him for almost a half-hour now, and the man hadn't said a word.

To be honest, he was beginning to lose his patience.

"Now, see here," he said heatedly. "I saw Mustang do something to clear that smoke, something involving blue sparks. And Edward told me about those individuals from your country, the ones that use the Deadly Sins as code names. He said that one of them was probably dead after being stabbed with four swords. And I don't think he was exaggerating. Something is happening, something that I don't know about. Now tell me what is going on!"

"I can't," Falman said. Mulcahey wasn't sure whether to be happy that he'd finally gotten a reply or frustrated with the fact that the reply was negative.

"Why not?" Mulcahey demanded.

"I have orders," Falman said.

Mulcahey fought the urge to scream in frustration.

"Falman, is everything all right?" Mustang's voice asked.

Mulcahey turned around to see the Amestrian commander standing nearby, a concerned expression on his face and a metal spring in his hand. The priest fought the urge to ask what on Earth the man needed the spring for.

"Not precisely," Falman answered. "Father Mulcahey is rather more observant than we've given him credit for."

Mustang glanced at Mulcahey, who straightened under the man's gaze. The look in Mustang's eyes was appraising, and, after a few moments, his tight-lipped expression turned to a slight smile.

"Brief him," Mustang said. "Mulcahey is intelligent. And we're at a disadvantage. We might as well take advantage of every resource we have."

"You're certain?" Falman asked.

"Leave out the more…personal aspects of Ed's involvement," Mustang instructed. "But other than that, tell him as much as you can."

Falman saluted. "Yes, sir."

Mustang returned the salute. "I'll see you later. Klinger's nearly finished."

"Klinger?" Mulcahey asked.

"One of the only things I can't tell you," Falman replied. "It's not relevant, anyway."

Mulcahey frowned. "What can you tell me, then?"

"Alchemy: a noun, meaning the scientific study of the transformation of matter as well as the process of inducing such transformations using energy derived from tectonic forces," Falman recited. "Alchemist: a noun, referring to those engaged in that study or skilled in that process. State Alchemist: usable as a noun, a proper noun, or an honorific, denoting an alchemist who is a member of the Amestrian military and practices alchemy in the service of that body."

"Flame Alchemist: proper noun, the formal title of the Amestrian State Alchemist Colonel Roy Mustang, one of the heroes of the Ishvalan Civil War," Falman continued. "Fullmetal Alchemist: proper noun, the formal title of Amestrian State Alchemist Edward Elric, the youngest state alchemist in Amestrian history."

"Homunculus: noun, meaning an artificial life form created through alchemy, specifically, through the use of a Philosopher's Stone, and possessing the ability to heal from fatal injuries. Philosopher's Stone: proper noun, referring to a perfect alchemic compound created using the souls of multiple human beings. Envy: proper noun, denoting a homunculus with the ability to shapeshift."

"Father: proper noun, referring to an individual who is the master of multiple homunculi and uses these homunculi to gather 'human sacrifices,'" Falman continued. "Human sacrifices: noun, referring in this context to individuals who have attempted to perform human transmutation. Human transmutation: noun, referring to the process of using alchemy to create human life, usually in the context of raising the dead, which is illegal to perform in the country of Amestris."

"Excuse me?" Mulcahey asked, a bit overwhelmed.

"All right, let me explain this a bit more clearly," Falman said. "I think I should start by saying that, in case you haven't guessed, Edward was not attacked by the camp dog…"

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Klinger couldn't quite hide his surprise when Mustang reappeared after a few minutes with a whole spring that looked suspiciously identical to the old, broken one.

"Do I want to know where you got that?" Klinger asked.

"Probably not," Mustang answered.

Klinger shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

He carefully reassembled the leg, putting the spring back in its proper place. A few minutes later, he was screwing in the last screw.

"Is it done?" Mustang asked.

Klinger nodded. "Don't forget—you owe me."

Mustang nodded.

Klinger smiled, and wrapped the leg back up in the blanket Mustang had first used to hide it back before they'd bugged out and everything had gone pear-shaped, then handed the bundle to Mustang.

"Thanks," Mustang said curtly, before hurrying off.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Ed!"

Ed opened his eyes and looked around blearily, only to see Mustang looking at him eagerly, holding a bundle of cloth…

"Huh?" he asked.

"Your leg," Mustang whispered.

Well, now Ed was awake. "Klinger fixed it?"

Mustang nodded.

Ed felt relief wash over him. Being mobile again would be great. But first…

"I'm gonna need your help to reattach it," he said.

"Okay," Mustang said. "What do I do?"

Ed started rolling up his pant leg, wincing as the leather of the pants rubbed raw skin. He had a bad feeling… and, sure enough, the belt that connected the wooden leg to his stump was now crusted over with blood, after cutting into what was left of his leg rather viciously.

He saw Mustang wince. Grimacing himself, he tried to focus on removing the belt. Unbuckling it was easy enough, but peeling it away from the skin his blood had plastered it to was a bit more painful. Finally, though, it was off, and he shoved it, along with Frank's transmuted stool, off to the side.

Carefully, he explained the port's mechanism to Mustang, and pointed out the place that the leg was meant to connect to. Then, he gritted his teeth and braced himself as Mustang reattached the leg.

The jolt of the nerves reconnecting wasn't exactly painful, but it was unpleasant. But as the connections reactivated, Ed found himself smiling. He moved to roll down his pants leg, but before he could, something white smacked into his forehead, right between his eyes.

It bounced onto his lap, and he saw it was a roll of bandages.

"I think you'd better bandage those," Pierce advised, as he leaned against the edge of the cave's opening.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

_A/N: Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Unfortunately, I can't make any promises about when the next one will be here, though, if I were you, I wouldn't expect anything before August. Sorry, but my schedule for the next few months is mildly whacked. Anyhow, please leave a review before you go!_


End file.
